


Edge of the Moon

by thepsychicclam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Sparring, Supernatural Law Enforcement, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn't need a partner. He'd had a partner, and now she was dead. He sure as hell didn't need this spastic, babbling kid as his partner - no matter who thought he was a genius or who his father was. But the SEA required all their agents to have partners, and Director Argent was insisting Derek work with Stiles.</p>
<p>With dead pools surfacing with agent names on them - including Derek's own Pack - he has to ignore his hatred for his new partner and focus on taking down the Benefactor. If he doesn't kill Stiles first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> written for my hoechlin birthday auction winner, [Gossymer](http://gossymer.tumblr.com/). thank you so much for being patient as i worked on this for MONTHS, and for giving me a prompt well outside of my usual comfort zone. i had a ton of fun pushing myself as i wrote this! i hope this is close to what you wanted <3

Derek didn’t do partners. He didn’t trust people, and the last person he trusted was rotting in a wolfsbane circled grave in northern California. Laura he had trusted. Too bad Laura had put her trust in him, which had turned out to be the worst mistake of her life.

But as Derek stared down Director Argent and Admiral Stilinski, he was pretty sure he had no choice. But he had to try anyway.

“No.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. The pressure of fangs ached against his gums, and he curled claw-tipped fingers into his fist.

“This isn’t a discussion,” Argent said, leveling his own stony gaze at Derek. Derek might respect Chris Argent on most days, but today he wanted to rip his throat out. “You’re getting a partner.”

“I don’t need a partner,” Derek growled, his eyes bleeding blue. Admiral Stilinski watched him closely, worry lines creasing his brow.

“You’ve been alone too long, Hale,” Argent said, his eyes sweeping over Derek’s lack of composure like it was Exhibit A. “It’s time you are assigned a partner.”

Derek reigned the wolf in, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He uncurled his fingers from their vice-like clench. When he opened his eyes, he felt more stable. “My work is fine without a partner.”

Chris slammed a folder on the desk beside him. “Everyone in the Supernatural Enforcement Agency has a partner. It’s safer and more efficient. While you have done good work solo these last few years, it’s time for you to join the rest of the agency again.” Argent sat behind the desk, extending a hand as he indicated the two vacant chairs across from it. Admiral Stilinski sat down, and Derek reluctantly followed.

“Are you sure about this, Chris?” Stilinski asked, eying Derek warily. “I’m rethinking my decision.”

“Derek is one of our best hunters,” Argent responded. “Although apparently he left his manners at home today.” He gave Derek a withering look, and Derek glowered in return.

“I am aware of Hale’s work,” Stilinski said. “I checked each potential applicant carefully.” And well, that had Derek’s interest piqued. He hadn’t applied for anything, so he wondered what kind of mission he had been chosen for. 

Before he could ask, the door to Argent’s office swung open, and a thin, reedy-looking kid waltzed in. “Sorry, sorry!” he exclaimed, holding up his hands and looking contrite. He was wearing black glasses, a blue zip up hoodie, and a t-shirt with a baked good on it. Derek barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

Admiral Stilinski sighed in an aggrieved manner, his head in his hand. Argent just looked openly annoyed. 

“I swear, I have a good reason,” the kid said as he dragged a chair from the hallway into the room, shutting the door with his foot before he sat beside Derek. “Scott and Danny stopped me in the hall, and Danny said he wanted to show me – “

Argent held up a hand. “Enough. It doesn’t matter.”

Admiral Stilinski sighed and shot the kid an annoyed look. The kid shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late, Dad.”

_Dad?_ Derek thought. He’d heard tales of Stilinski’s son. He was supposed to follow in his father’s political footsteps, joining the diplomatic relations between the Supernatural Enforcement Agency and the human police and military forces, but as rumor has it, the kid didn’t have a diplomatic bone in his body. He rambled, said whatever was in his head without thinking of the consequences, and apparently had a bit of a wild streak if the police reports were anything to go by. He was also supposedly some sort of genius, but the kid beside him looked like he’d just tumbled out of a frat house.

Derek had no clue why he was sitting in the office with them now.

Admiral Stilinski looked at Argent. “This is a terrible idea.”

Argent gave the other man a sympathetic smile before turning to Derek and Stilinski, Jr. “Derek Hale, meet Stiles Stilinski, your new partner.”

“What?” Derek exclaimed at the same time Stiles made a choking sound.

“Him?” Stiles hooked a thumb in Derek’s direction. “This is my partner? There has to be a mistake.”

Argent shook his head. “There is no mistake.”

“Can he even legally drive a car?” Derek asked.

“Screw you,” Stiles snapped. “I’m twenty-three.” Stiles leaned forward so he could look around Derek at his father. “I agreed to let you personally choose my partner, but a werewolf, and a suicidal, batshit crazy, grumpy one at that was not what I signed up for!”

Derek growled, his eyes bleeding blue at the insult. Stiles pointed at him, gawking. “See? Batshit crazy werewolf.”

“Enough!” Argent yelled, and both Derek and Stiles turned to him. “You two will be partners, end of discussion. There is a mission that requires both of your unique skill sets.” Derek straightened with interest as Chris slid two folders across the desk. Derek and Stiles both picked them up and started flipping through the contents. “A dead pool has surfaced, which contains the names of dozens of supernatural beings.”

Stiles shrugged. “So, isn’t that like what you do here? Hunt monsters?”

“ _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_. Our motto is we protect those who cannot protect themselves, Mr. Stilinski. We protect, and we hunt supernatural beings who are threats.” Chris gives him a smirk. “But you already know that.”

“This list contains names of people who are either government workers, peaceful citizens, or otherwise under the radar, so to speak,” Stilinski said. “Stiles, Lydia is on this list. As is Scott.”

“What?” Stiles exclaimed. He flipped through the pages until he got to the dead pool list. His eyes grew wide as he read over it. Derek recognized some of the names, a few of them who worked in this very building. “Dude, Scott is worth twenty five what? Dollars? Thousand?”

“Million,” Argent supplied. Derek snapped his head up with shock. “This list has leaked, and we do not know who has had access to it. We have teams dealing with the names on the list, but you two have a different assignment. You two are going to track down the creators of this list and take them out.”

*

Derek didn’t rush out of Director Argent’s office so much as stomp. Maybe he was being petulant, but he was partnered with a child! Derek stormed through headquarters, causing curious glances from some of the analysts, and slammed the elevator button so hard it cracked. He was too angry to even care.

He seethed the two floors down to the basement lab. The room was dark, cold, but spacious and filled with the subtle whir of various machines. Kira was bent over a microscope, her garish tights a bright contrast to her white lab coat. She didn’t even look up as Derek swept through the room, dragging his fingers across her shoulders as he passed. He could feel her smile even though she kept her face hidden.

“What the hell crawled up your ass and died?” Isaac called from under a counter, where he was pilfering for something. He made a small sound when he grasped the intended object, and then stood and spun to face Derek. “I could feel your brood all the way from upstairs.”

Derek glared, and Isaac just smirked. Isaac was one of many werewolves in the Supernatural Enforcement Agency who had undergone the five year government program that allowed him exemption from being potentially hunted. Isaac was also part of Derek’s Pack, along with two other hunters, Boyd and Erica, and Derek’s sister, Cora. 

“I’ve been assigned a partner,” Derek growled. 

Isaac laughed, the fucker. He threw his head back and laughed long and full. If they weren’t in a lab filled with millions of dollars worth of equipment, Derek would break a few of his bones. “That’s hilarious. Who is it?”

“Stiles Stilinski,” Kira piped up from her lab table. They both turned to look at her. She was leaning back, hands on her lower back as she stretched. “What? He’s Scott’s best friend. Scott told me about it last night.” Kira stood up and joined the other two. “What? Is there a problem with Stiles?”

“Other than the fact that he’s an infant?”

Kira smiled. “He’s a good guy. And wicked smart.”

“I don’t need a partner,” Derek grumbled.

Isaac placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s time for you to get some interaction outside of your Pack.” Kira cleared her throat. “And Kira.” 

“Always forget about me,” she mumbled going back to her station. “Like Mexican and bowling last week was nothing!”

Derek smiled in Kira’s direction before turning to Isaac and feeling annoyed again. Isaac squeezed his shoulder. “It’s just for missions. Other than that, you don’t have to see him.”

Derek left the lab, not feeling any better. When he reached the operations room, he saw Stiles and his dad talking on the other side of the room. Stiles’ hands were flailing everywhere, his exaggerated facial expressions visible from where Derek stood. Derek honed his senses so he could listen to their conversation.

“I don’t care that he’s one of the agency’s best hunters! He’s, he’s…psychotic!”

“I would not have paired you with him if he was psychotic,” Admiral Stilinski replied. “He’s strong, and fast, and intelligent, and has one of the best track records of all the hunters.” He lowered his voice and said, “He can keep you safe.”

“I don’t need anyone to keep me safe!” Stiles responded. “I can take care of myself!”

“You’re my son, and this is your first assignment. It’s dangerous. You’ve never even been in the field.”

“I don’t trust him,” Stiles said. “You heard what happened to his last partner, and that was his sister. What if – “

Derek didn’t want to hear anymore. He burst through the doors so forcefully that he knocked one off the hinges. 

*

“So,” Stiles said awkwardly. They were in Derek’s car, because Derek had insisted on driving his Camaro over that piece of shit Jeep Stiles had shown up in. “What kind of music do you like?” Derek shot him a look of disbelief. “What? Silences make me nervous.”

“Obviously.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and huffed out a grunt. “I’m just trying to make the best out of this shitty situation.”

“By refusing to shut up?”

“By getting to know you. The partner training module said – “

“You actually watched that?” Derek asked incredulously.

“Obviously you didn’t,” Stiles retorted. 

“I don’t need to watch it,” Derek growled. “I don’t need a partner.”

“It’s not like I’m thrilled to be partnered with you either, okay?” Stiles exclaimed, arms flailing everywhere. “Let’s just focus on catching the bad guy, and then we can go back to our regularly scheduled lives.”

Derek nodded and pressed down on the accelerator.

*

Between Stiles’ research skills and Danny’s computer skills, they traced one of the recipients of the dead pool to a small town on the Nevada border. Two hunters, Parrish and Dunbar, were already there on protection duty of the Wendigo in question. Stiles and Derek weren’t interested in protecting the Wendigo – they wanted to catch the killer.

Derek pulled the car over on an isolated stretch of road a few miles from town. Stiles set his laptop, a map, and a sketch pad out on the hood of Derek’s car. Derek had no clue what Stiles was doing, but remained silent as he typed away and muttered to himself. After a few minutes, Stiles consulted the map, then started sketching something on the blank sheet of paper. He typed a few more things, and Derek’s curiosity started to get the best of him. He sidled up behind Stiles and watched him work over his shoulder. Until Stiles elbowed him in the ribs.

“Back off, geez. Have you ever heard of personal space?”

Derek growled, but took a few steps away. He heard Stiles mutter under his breath, “Fucking werewolves.”

Soon, Stiles clapped his hands together and started doing a little dance. Derek watched him with his arms crossed over his chest, unimpressed. “I have a plan.”

“Oh, do share,” Derek replied sarcastically.

Stiles frowned, but started outlining each part of the plan to Derek. “That is a terrible idea,” Derek argued, pointing to two of the X’s on the sketch pad. “That will leave you vulnerable.”

“No, it won’t,” Stiles argued as he shook his head. “If you take out the guys like I told you, I can easily slip past and cut the power.”

“Why am I even listening to you?” Derek grunted.

“Because I’m the genius strategist, and you are the brainless muscle and intimidation! You brawn, me brain,” Stiles said slowly.

“You are slowly making me want to rip your throat out with my teeth.”

To Stiles’ credit, he didn’t outwardly flinch, though Derek felt the skip in his heartbeat. Derek grinned with a mouth full of fangs just to drive his point home. Stiles grabbed the laptop, map, and sketchbook and went over to the passenger side door. “If you follow my plan, everything will be fine.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he slipped behind the wheel.

*

Everything was not fine. In fact, Derek would call this entire mission a disaster, if they didn’t have a dead hitman and another part of the list of the dead pool. But Stiles had a gash on his side, and Derek had a wolfsbane bullet in his leg, so maybe disaster was the correct word after all.

“Stop writhing, dammit,” Stiles instructed as he tried to dig out the bullet. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, had put in contacts for the mission, and Derek couldn’t help stare at his face, which looked so different. But then again, Derek’s brain was clouded with pain, black seeping through his veins and at the edges of his vision, so focusing on anything else right now helped. “I can’t get it out. You’re gonna have to do it.”

Derek felt his back hit the cool side of the metal building as Stiles propped him up, and he took a deep breath. It didn’t help. “Hey, Derek, focus on me,” Stiles said, snapping his fingers in front of Derek’s face. “Stay with me, buddy. Can you dig out the bullet?”

Derek tried to follow the words Stiles had just said. He started trying to find the bullet, but then Stiles’ hand was on his wrist. “That’s not your leg.” Derek felt like crying. His thigh burned like only wolfsbane could do, and it was slowly creeping its way upward. “I’m going to put your hand there, and you can use your claws to dig it out, okay?”

Derek nodded and felt his hand against his searing skin. He listened to the sound of Stiles’ voice as he walked him through the steps, digging into the flesh and muscle at Stiles’ insistence despite the near unbearable pain. When his claws finally hit metal, he tried and failed to extract it.

“It’s okay, I see it,” Stiles said, and then Derek yelled in pain as something dug into his leg. “Shit, sorry, sorry, almost got it. Hang in there, Derek. Almost there. You’re doing awesome, if awesome is bleeding on me and kinda reeking of death.”

Despite himself, Derek grunted out a laugh, and Stiles looked up for a moment, looking surprised but pleased. There was a small smile on his face as he turned back to the bullet still lodged in Derek’s leg. “Ah-ha!” Stiles exclaimed when he finally pulled it out. “Got it.”

Derek tried to smile, but instead, he passed out.

*

As Derek came to, he didn’t remember much or know where he was, but he could pick out a few things around him. Isaac’s voice, Erica’s perfume, Boyd’s hand on his arm, the steady thrum of Stiles’ heartbeat. That more than anything jerked him out of his stupor and into consciousness. The room was bright, way too bright, and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes.

“It lives!” Stiles joked, but even groggy, Derek could hear the relief mixed with worry and concern in his voice.

“Derek?” Erica asked tentatively. 

“This is hardly the worst injury I’ve gotten on the job,” Derek growled, shrugging away from the three sets of hands on him. “I don’t know why you’re all here.”

“He’s fine,” Boyd said and smirked when Derek laid eyes on him.

Erica threw her arms around his neck, nuzzling into him. “You looked like you were dead when Stiles brought you in,” she said against his neck. 

“You still look half-dead,” Isaac said, and Derek didn’t have the heart to be mad when he caught sight of the look on his face. Isaac looked terrified. 

“I’m fine,” Derek said again, but didn’t bother trying to remove Erica from his chest. His eyes finally found Stiles. He was standing along the wall, away from the Pack, watching them carefully. His hair was sticking up everywhere, his shirt covered with blood – mostly Derek’s, if the smell was anything to go by. His hands were also stained red and caked around the nail beds.

“How’s your side?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged, touching it gingerly. “Not too bad. Doc stitched it up, should be fine in a day or two.”

“The hitman? The list?”

Stiles stepped over to Derek and put a hand on his shoulder. “Everything taken care of. You rest. Argent said he’d debrief us at 0800 tomorrow.”

Derek nodded, and as Stiles reached the door, he called out. “Stiles?” He turned around, face curious. “Thanks.”

Stiles nodded, and then slipped out the door.

*

Derek was heading towards the basement lab to talk to Kira for awhile when he heard someone call his name. Which was weird, because people didn’t talk to Derek. Most people avoided Derek at all costs. He was the crazy, unhinged one in the unit. 

Admiral Stilinski walked towards Derek with a determined look on his face. Derek had never wanted to run and hide so much in his entire life. “Sir,” Derek greeted.

“I was hoping to have a word with you.” Derek nodded, and the Admiral led him into an empty conference room on the left. He closed the door when Derek was inside. “I saw Stiles this morning.”

“How is he?” Derek hadn’t seen Stiles today. He wasn’t sure if Stiles was purposefully avoiding him or not.

“Banged up and bruised with a gash down his side,” the Admiral said. He did not look happy. “He’s not doing very well, I’d say.” Derek didn’t respond; he wasn’t sure what to say. The Admiral wasn’t necessarily the most physically intimidating person, but Derek was terrified of him just the same. He had this air about him; plus Derek had heard stories about the Admiral. You didn’t mess with him. 

And now Derek was mostly responsible for his son being injured on his first mission. A son the Admiral was fiercely protective of, if the rumors were true. If they weren’t at the office, Derek might have feared for his life.

“Explain to me how my son gets hurt and you almost die on the first mission he goes out on,” the Admiral said. “Cause son, I gotta tell you, I’ve heard rumors about you which I never believed. Laura was a damn fine agent, as are you and Cora. But I can’t deny it’s a little disconcerting.”

“It was my fault,” Derek said, squaring his shoulders. “I ignored Stiles’ plan, putting us both in danger.”

The Admiral eyed him carefully, and Derek tried not to flinch under his gaze. Then, the Admiral said, “Well, at least you’re starting to act like a partner.” At Derek’s quizzical expression, he elaborated. “I’m sure what you said is true, but I know Stiles. Whatever happened, I’m sure it was partially his fault.”

The Admiral ran a hand through his hair and then started for the door. He turned back towards Derek as his hand touched the knob. “Be careful with him, Agent Hale. He’s a lot more breakable than you are.”

*

The list they attained was useless without a cipher key, so the debriefing was uneventful. It was three days before he heard from Stiles. “Yeah?” Derek answered, Stiles’ number the last thing he expected.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked.

“Completely healed,” Derek said. “You?”

“Mostly. Melissa gave me a salve that’s expediting the healing process.” Derek nodded even though Stiles couldn’t see him. “I, uh, the reason I called was because I wanted to know if you were interested in sparring.”

“Huh?” Derek blurted.

“Yeah, you know, never mind. I’ll call Scott, or Allison, it’s – “

“Meet me in an hour at the gym,” Derek interrupted.

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then Stiles said, “See you then.”

*

The gym was more of a large warehouse with different sections set up for various training exercises. Underneath the main floor was a basement filled with archery and firing ranges, along with rooms they used to prepare the hunters for various life threatening situations. Derek wondered if Stiles had gone through those rooms, because Derek didn’t sleep for a week after being trapped in the confining space of the tunnels for hours.

Stiles was waiting for him by the sparring mats, wearing a baggy t-shirt and basketball shorts. Derek had on a tank top and sweat pants. Stiles nodded as Derek approached. “Thanks.”

“We haven’t done anything yet,” Derek said.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” Stiles amended. “After our last mission, Scott and my dad suggested that you help me train a bit.”

“Not a bad idea.” Derek pointed towards the sparring mats, and followed Stiles onto them. “What do you want to learn?”

“Anything,” Stiles answered. “Fighting isn’t exactly my forte.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched. “You don’t say.”

Stiles glared. “Just, get on with it.”

“Let’s see you fend off an attack,” Derek suggested as he crouched into position. Stiles watched him, a never-ending movement of muscle and anxiety. He felt too much like prey to his wolf, and it clawed to pounce, to attack, to claim. Derek shook the thoughts from his head as he moved towards Stiles.

Predictably, Stiles feigned to the right, and Derek easily tackled him to the ground. As soon as they hit the mat, Derek was back on his feet, holding a hand out for Stiles. “Again,” Derek said, and they repeated the maneuver three times before Derek finally stopped them. “You’re predictable.”

“What?” Stiles looked offended. “How can I be predictable? I don’t even know what I’m going to do until I do it.”

“You have done the same thing four times in a row,” Derek pointed out. “You can’t just move to the side and hope for the best.”

“Then show me what to do.”

Derek took Stiles through a few defensive techniques, and tried to help him learn how to hide his intentions. Derek couldn’t ignore the scent of sweat, determination, and _Stiles_ wafting from him when he stood close. It made his wolf want to pounce even more. “Supernatural creatures have heightened senses,” Derek explained. “You can’t give away any hints as to your move or they’ll be two steps ahead.”

“This is impossible,” Stiles whined. 

“Let’s go again.”

By the end of the afternoon, Stiles had managed to avoid Derek three times. “This is humiliating,” Stiles muttered as he starfished out on the mat. Derek laughed and handed Stiles his sports drink bottle after he’d gulped half of it down. Stiles took it gratefully.

“You’ll learn.”

Stiles pushed himself up as he swallowed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “This wouldn’t be a problem if you would follow my plans.”

“What?” Derek stared at Stiles. 

“I’m not a fighter, I’m a strategist,” Stiles said. “You are the one who’s trained and strong and who’s supposed to be killing bad guys. I’m the one who is supposed to figure shit out and tell you what to do.”

Derek shook his head. “I knew this was a bad idea.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Your plan almost got us killed.”

“If you had followed my strategy,” Stiles yelled, jumping to his feet and poking Derek in the chest, “then we wouldn’t have gotten hurt. But _no,_ you had to be Mr. Big Bad Werewolf and go off and attack people and throw the plan out of the window. We’re supposed to be partners, but you’re a selfish prick who only thinks of himself!”

Derek growled, his eyes bleeding blue. “I don’t need a partner.”

Stiles shook his head. “And I don’t need this bullshit. Get yourself killed, for all I care!”

Stiles stormed out of the gym, and Derek destroyed three punching bags before night fell.

*

“It’s not working,” Derek told Argent the next morning. Argent sat in his chair behind the desk and leveled his gaze at Derek.

“That’s not for you to decide,” Argent said. “You and Stilinski have already brought down one contract killer and discovered another part to the dead pool. Lydia has almost cracked the cipher key, so I believe this is working.”

“He’s ridiculous,” Derek yelled. 

“He’s a certified genius,” Argent stated. “He is one of the best strategists and analysts in the country, and he has an acute knowledge of the supernatural. He knows more about it than your uncle did.” The mention of Peter left a bad taste in Derek’s mouth, but he couldn’t deny that no one had known more about the supernatural than Peter Hale had. He had basically been a walking bestiary.

“Can’t he partner with McCall?” Derek said. “Or Allison? Ethan? Anyone?”

Argent glared at Derek. “Make it work. We will not have this conversation again. Understood?”

Derek nodded and left the office.

*

Parrish and Dunbar sent intel to headquarters about a possible lead down south, so Stiles and Derek headed out at 5 a.m. Stiles was still half-asleep and mumbling incoherently, something about a TV special he’d watched the night before about turtles and their eggs getting eaten. Derek didn’t bother trying to listen and just tuned it out.

“Food,” Stiles groaned an hour later. “Coffee, food, bacon, grease, nutrition.”

“What are you babbling about?” Derek huffed, turning down the radio.

“I’m hungry.”

“Didn’t you bring anything?” 

“No.” Stiles sat up straighter in the seat, rubbed his eyes and started moving his body erratically. Derek glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. His movements were jerky and spastic, and if Derek would have seen him on the street, he wouldn’t have thought he was a trained agent.

“I’m not stopping.”

“Dude, that’s just wrong,” Stiles said. Derek turned to snap back, but he got distracted by Stiles yawning, his mouth wide and round, and his long fingers running through his hair. He closed his mouth and looked at Derek. “Come on, next McDonalds. I’m shit if I don’t eat, my brain just goes everywhere and my sugar drops and – “

“Fine!” Derek gritted out. “Just. Stop. Talking.”

They ended up at a small roadside diner with pickups and derelict cars in the parking lot. Derek sniffed the air as soon as he exited the car. “Are you clearing the area?” Stiles asked, delighted. “That’s so awesome. But dude, it’s just grease and bacon. Even I can smell that. Come on.” Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and tugged him along. Derek didn’t resist.

Stiles looked around the diner as they waited on their food, his hands tapping a mindless rhythm on the table. “This place is awesome.”

“This place is shit.”

Stiles turned to Derek with a frown. “Why you gotta be like that? Ruin my fun? I love these little hole-in-the-wall places. So much better than chain restaurants and fast food joints. Get a real sense of the locals.”

Derek looked around. The place was mostly empty, save for two tables of elderly couples, two men in faded overalls and trucker hats at the counter, and two waitresses who were missing various teeth. “Charming.”

“So, Scott said that Kira said that you two went to a museum a couple days ago.” Derek nodded. Stiles waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, he said, “Well, how was it?”

Derek shrugged. “Fine.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Could you at least make an effort here? We’re partners, we’re having to spend hours in silent cars eating silent meals and it’s driving me fucking insane, okay? Like, silence bugs me. All the stuff in my head just starts spinning around, and it’s a mess of numbers and exit plans and computer code and porn and video game controls and outings with Scott in my head. And let me tell you, that’s not fun.”

“Is that what it’s like being a genius?” Derek asked. He was above average intelligence, but he was definitely no genius. He couldn’t begin to understand what that was like.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s different for everyone. I just get really distracted by stuff in my head, stuff I see around me. Silence makes it worse, because there’s nothing for me to focus on.”

The waitress dropped off their food, and Derek sighed as Stiles started shoveling food into his mouth gracelessly. “We went to see an exhibit of ancient Etruscan armor and weapons.”

Stiles swallowed, then gulped down some soda. “That sounds really interesting. Do you like history?”

Derek nodded. “So does Kira. We visit museums a lot together. Boyd likes to go to museums sometimes, but Erica and Isaac don’t. Laura didn’t either, really.”

“I think it’s interesting you and Kira are such good friends,” Stiles said. 

“Why?” Derek asked defensively.

Stiles laughed. “Calm down, big guy. It’s just, you don’t seem the friend type. You know, everyone at the office is terrified of you.”

“They’re idiots.”

“They think you’re psychotic,” Stiles said. 

Derek glared at him. “Yeah, and you think I’m psychotic, too.” He stood up, grabbed his breakfast sandwich, and stormed out of the diner. He ate breakfast in the car, fuming about Stiles. He kept hearing Stiles talking to his father. _“I don’t care that he’s one of the agency’s best hunters! He’s, he’s…psychotic!”_

Derek would never admit it, but it stung. That everyone blamed him for Laura’s death, like he had done something intentionally or even unintentionally that would get his sister killed. And the fact that Stiles thought that…

He looked down with a start when he felt a prick of pain. Blood was oozing down the heel of his hand from puncture marks that were already healing. 

It didn’t matter what Stiles thought. He didn’t care about Stiles. After they caught the Benefactor, he could get another partner, or maybe work alone again.

Stiles got into the car ten minutes later. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at Derek. That was fine with Derek. He cranked up the volume on the stereo as he backed out of the parking place, then sped down the empty road through the desert.

*

“These are the coordinates,” Stiles said, a GPS in one hand and a map in another. He had a pencil behind one ear, his glasses sliding down his nose as he looked down at the map. “This is literally the middle of nowhere.” They were in the middle of a barren patch of the Mojave, nothing but sand, rock outcroppings, and brush surrounding them.

Derek pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the sand. Then he unbuttoned his jeans before leaning down to unlace his boots. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek huffed in frustration. “I track better as a wolf.” He shed his remaining clothes and then shifted into his wolf form. It had been too long since he’d shifted, and everything hit him strongly like it usually did. Scents and sounds and the atmosphere around them. 

_Stiles. Stiles. Stiles._

Derek turned around and trotted up to Stiles, circling him as he sniffed. Stiles smelled so much better in this form, and Derek had to fight with his instinct to remain in control. He backed away, trying to ignore everything his instinct was telling him to do.

When he glanced at Stiles, forgetting his instinct wasn’t very difficult. Stiles was staring at him with a mixture of horror and terror. Now that Derek had his head back in the game, he could smell the scent of fear hanging in the air. He didn’t know why Stiles was scared of him; he took a few steps forward and bumped his leg gently with his nose.

“Shit,” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek sat back and watched Stiles patiently. They were obviously not getting anything accomplished if his partner was freaking out over nothing.

“I read that you could – but I never thought – shit. I read about wolves who could, but I’ve never seen it. Can you hear me in there? Is it still you? Can you talk?” Stiles leaned down so he was more level with Derek. Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles jumped back, surprised. His heart was beating erratically, his pulse assaulting Derek’s senses and threatening to overwhelm him until it was the only thing he focused on. Then Stiles laughed. “Ohmigod, you just rolled your eyes! It’s you in there.” 

Derek growled quietly, and Stiles grinned. His heart leveled out, an acute sense of curiosity overpowering the fear. Slowly, like he was afraid Derek would attack him at any moment, Stiles extended his hand, pausing before making contact. “Can I?” Stiles asked. Derek lifted his head, pressing into Stiles’ hand. Stiles made a small exclamation, his heartbeat spiking.

After a moment, Stiles slid his hand over Derek’s fur, petting him. Derek fought the urge to growl happily and nuzzle into his touch. Then, just as suddenly, Stiles jumped up and back, like he’d been spooked. Derek tamped down the hurt he felt with Stiles looking down at him with a mixture of awe and revulsion. 

For a moment, he’d forgotten that Stiles hated werewolves.

Turning his back on Stiles, Derek turned around and started following a trail he’d picked up the moment he shifted. It smelled like hunters, the same sweet smell of gun oil, hint of wolfsbane and other protection herbs. He could hear and smell Stiles trailing behind him. 

The scent ended at an opening in a group of rocks. Inside, they found evidence that someone had been staying there, and Derek smelled the scent of three people and blood belonging to supernatural creatures.

“They haven’t been here for awhile,” Stiles said as he poked around the fire and studied the trash on the ground. 

Derek took off running, ignoring Stiles yelling behind him. He followed the trail across the desert, turning north and ending at a road. He sniffed around the asphalt, but the trail was gone. He followed the trail back to the rocks, where Stiles was sitting on the edge of one. When he saw Derek approaching, he jumped up and stomped towards him.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles yelled. “You just ran off and left me alone in the middle of the fucking desert, which is _dark as fuck_ , with only my cell phone as a light.”

Derek lowered his nose and followed the trail back the way they came. When he reached his clothes, he shifted back to human. “The trail ends at the road. They must have gotten into a car.”

“Next time, warn a guy!” Stiles yelled. 

“Warn you for what?” Derek asked as he buttoned his jeans.

“Shifting! Running off! Just…everything!”

Derek wanted to yell and push and punch Stiles. He wanted to yell that he shouldn’t have to warn him when he shifts, that no part of him needed _warning_ about, but Derek was drained. He could still smell Stiles in his nostrils, on his skin, and he hated it. 

He shoved his feet in his boots, tied his laces, and put his shirt back on as he walked towards the car.

*

Derek sparred with Stiles over the next few days. Stiles had only improved marginally, so after he took Stiles down yet again, Derek walked over to the edge of the mat and grabbed a towel. “You’re predictable,” Derek said as he wiped the sweat from his neck.

“I know, you keep reminding me,” Stiles grumbled. He was wet from head to toe, his hair limp and sticking to his forehead. His baggy shirt was drenched. Derek had tried to convince Stiles to wear something less bulky, like the tank top Derek was wearing, but Stiles always showed up in the same baggy clothes.

“If you use the same moves in fights, your opponent will take you down.”

“This is fucking pointless,” Stiles said, dropping to the mat. “I’m not good at this. I’m an analyst, I plan, I decipher, I figure out shit. If I was good at physical stuff, I would have gotten laid a lot more in high school.”

Derek sat down on the mat beside Stiles and offered him his sports drink. “You don’t have to be good at the physical stuff,” he said as Stiles gulped down most of Derek’s drink. “You just have to know how to defend yourself.”

“Isn’t that what you’re for?” Stiles asked. 

Derek gave him a wry grin. “Last time, you were the one protecting me. We need to plan for the worst case scenarios.” He poked Stiles’ temple. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing? Planning for all possible outcomes?”

“I do. I plan that you will beat up the bad guys.”

Derek got to his feet and extended a hand to Stiles. “Come on,” Derek said, pulling Stiles to his feet. “I’ll teach you a few new moves.”

*

Their next mission took them to Oregon, so they booked a hotel room for the night. Using the intel Stiles and Derek had gathered from the Mojave, along with additional info from Parrish and Dunbar, Mason had located the group of rogue hunters in a town near the Oregon coast. The mission was to collect information from the rogue hunters because they were believed to have contact with the person behind the dead pool. This meant they had to go undercover.

“I look ridiculous,” Derek said, staring at himself in the mirror. He was wearing glasses similar to the ones Stiles wore, a tie, and, for fuck’s sake, a sweater vest. 

“You look classy,” Stiles said.

“I look like a middle aged professor.”

“Perfect!” Stiles grinned and turned around to hand Derek dossiers on the hunters. “They meet in a classroom in the humanities building at one of the local colleges. They put out some feelers looking for someone who was familiar with magic runes. Lydia believes they’re going after two druids living in the area and are trying to find a way to break the protective wards. As long as the wards are in place, they can’t get to them.”

“Why these druids?” Derek asked as he pulled the sweater vest over his head. He couldn’t stand to wear it any longer.

“They’re worth five hundred thousand a piece,” Stiles explained. “Not the most money, but some of the least threatening if they can figure out how to break the wards. Lydia also thinks they are attempting to use rune magic against the druids.”

“Why can’t you go undercover?” Derek asked as he set the glasses on the table. “You’re the one with the rune knowledge.”

“Because, if they make us, you are the one with the claws.” Stiles opened an ancient-looking leather tome and flipped through it carefully. “I’ll be telling you what you need to know through the ear wig.” 

Derek didn’t like it, but he didn’t press it.

He did pushups and sit ups while Stiles read and muttered to himself as he made notes. After Stiles seemingly got everything he could from the book, he started pacing around the room. Derek was stretched out on his bed, trying to focus on the drone of the television and not his own thoughts. The nights before missions were always the worst; the waiting, the nerves, the memories of Laura. 

Most of the time, he kept his mind away from Laura and his parents. He kept his guilt close to the surface, but he used it as a shield, as an anchor. But most of the time he refused to let himself think about it. Wallowing did him no good.

“You seem tense,” Stiles said as he made another loop around the room.

“I don’t like going undercover,” Derek replied. “I’m not good with...that kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged. “Do you mean with the people and the talking thing and the general acting like a functional member of society?” Derek lifted his head and growled at Stiles, who pointed. “See? That right there. People don’t like that, you know.” 

“I don’t care what people like,” Derek said, lying back flat. “I don’t like people.”

“Okay, so you’re tense. I’m tense, too.”

“Oh really?”

“Do you ever answer something seriously? Or is it always your winning brand of snark?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“I talk when I’m nervous.”

“Only when you’re nervous?”

“I didn’t say only.”

Derek sighed. He figured he wasn’t going to get Stiles to stop talking or leave him alone, so he pushed himself into a seated position and leaned back against the headboard. His eyes tracked Stiles’ movements as he paced around the room, and once again his wolf watched him like prey. Derek felt an itching under his skin to pounce and catch him, pin him down underneath him until he was moaning or crying – he wasn’t sure which. 

He shook his head because these thoughts were not appropriate for his partner. Especially a partner he hated. But at least it helped distract him from his own thoughts for a minute.

“So,” Derek said, trying to think of something to say. “The room reeks of your anxiety.”

“Fuck you.”

Derek frowned. “It wasn’t an insult, just a fact. What do you usually do when you’re nervous?”

“Jerk off.” Derek’s eyes immediately flitted to Stiles’ hands, his mind bringing up images it definitely shouldn’t be. “But I’m pretty sure you could hear me or smell me in the bathroom with your freaky werewolf senses, and that’d be pretty awkward.”

“I…I could help,” Derek said evenly.

Stiles froze, gaze glued to the floor. Derek listened to the rabbiting of his heart, the new scent of arousal that was mixing sourly with the anxiety. Derek wasn’t even sure what in the hell he was saying. Did he just offer to help Stiles jerk off? What was it with this kid? But if the content vibrations in his chest were anything to go by, his wolf was definitely pleased with the suggestion.

Finally, Stiles met Derek’s gaze, eyes bright behind his glasses. His cheeks were flushed, and Derek watched as his tongue darted out and licked his lips. “Are you,” Stiles started, pausing to clear his throat, “are you fucking with me? Because that’s not cool.”

“Not fucking with you,” Derek replied quietly, voice low and seductive. Stiles’ eyes roved over his body, where he was stretched out on the bed, then back to his face.

“The partner module said getting intimately involved is a bad idea.”

“But not forbidden.”

“I think you propositioning me can be considered sexual harassment,” Stiles said. Derek could tell he was stalling because he was nervous, also knew that Stiles wanted him. Badly.

Derek laced his fingers behind his head as he confidently stared at Stiles. “Turn me in.”

“Too much fucking paperwork,” Stiles replied as he stepped forward. In a flash, Derek was seated on the edge of the bed, and Stiles stepped between his open thighs. “No one said this was part of the job.”

“Perk?” Derek pushed up the hem of Stiles’ t-shirt. The skin revealed was pale and smooth, and he leaned forward and dragged his nose against the skin, inhaling. He felt Stiles shudder beneath his hand.

“I’ve never been with a werewolf,” Stiles whispered as his hands found their way into Derek’s hair.

Derek grinned up at him with full fangs, growling contently. He liked the idea that Stiles had never been with another wolf, so that in that way Derek was claiming him first. Stiles stared down at him with eyes full of fear and wonder, and Derek waited while Stiles touched one of Derek’s fangs. “Cool.” Derek nipped at his finger playfully, and then nipped at his belly. 

That seemed to knock Stiles into action; he began unbuttoning his jeans, and Derek nuzzled into his groin, savoring the concentrated musky smell of Stiles’ arousal. When Stiles’ cock popped free, Derek immediately swallowed him down to the root, causing Stiles to moan loudly. Stiles gripped Derek’s hair just on this side of painful, but Derek found he liked it. He liked the way Stiles tasted, the way he smelled, the way he mumbled constantly above him as he sucked his cock. 

While Derek’s mouth worked over Stiles, he let his hands roam. He fondled Stiles’ balls, warm and heavy in his hands, and then grabbed his ass cheeks before sliding a teasing finger over his hole. Stiles’ hips jerked erratically when he did that, so Derek pressed against it again for good measure. Then, he trailed his hands along Stiles’ sides, enjoying the smooth skin beneath his touch.

“Derek, I’m close,” Stiles whispered as he tugged at Derek’s hair. Derek moved his hand lower again, teasing Stiles’ entrance as he circled his tongue around the head. He felt Stiles tense the moment before his orgasm, and Derek almost could have come from the taste flooding his mouth combined with Stiles pulling at his hair. 

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed as Derek licked the last remaining bits of come from his dick. “Fuck.”

Derek reluctantly pulled off Stiles’ cock and looked up at him. Stiles still had his hand in his hair and was now lightly scratching Derek’s scalp. “Feel better?”

Stiles nodded with a lazy smile on a face. “Much.”

“Good.” He tucked Stiles’ cock back into his boxers and buttoned his pants, all the while trying not to push into Stiles’ hand. He failed.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked, dropping to his knees between Derek’s thighs. And god, Derek had never thought he’d have his partner on his knees in front of him. He barely knew Stiles, but fucking him was so much better than constantly fighting. 

“Don’t care,” Derek said, because that was better than saying he wanted Stiles to continue scratching his head all night. 

Stiles nodded and then started unzipping Derek’s jeans with determined focus. Derek watched, marveling at how deft Stiles’ hands were, how elegantly they moved, how his glasses slid down his thin nose. He couldn’t help the surprised half-growl-half-whine that escaped his mouth when Stiles’ long fingers wrapped around his length. Stiles’ fingers tugged at his foreskin for a moment before he slid his fist a few times, foreskin sliding back and forth over the head of Derek’s cock. Derek opened one eye to find Stiles staring up at him thoughtfully. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Stiles gave his cock a few more tugs before taking it in his mouth. It had been too long since Derek had gotten a blowjob, and he fisted the bed to keep from thrusting up into Stiles’ mouth. He wanted to fuck that mouth raw, but held himself back. 

Stiles’ mouth was as talented as his hands, and it didn’t take long until Derek was gripping the bedding and growling as he came down Stiles’ throat. When Stiles pulled off, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That okay?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Stiles’ eyes fell onto the unfortunately shredded bedding. He smirked. “I think you liked it.” He pushed himself to his feet, leaned down in an abortive movement, and then reached out and ran his hands through Derek’s hair again. “Thanks.” He tugged on the strands playfully before heading towards the bathroom. “By the way, you’re sleeping on the shredded bed.”

Derek snorted and dropped back onto the bed, feeling more relaxed than he had in awhile. Stiles exited the bathroom and crawled between the sheets on the other bed, falling asleep within minutes. Derek wasn’t too far behind.

*

“I look like an idiot,” Derek whispered as he moved through the academic building. He tugged on his sweater vest, which felt too confining, then adjusted the glasses.

“Stop messing with the glasses,” Stiles’ voice crackled through the earwig. “You’re giving me motion sickness. If you dislodge the camera, I can’t see you anymore. And we need visuals for facial recognition on those rogue hunters.”

“Still think you should have gone undercover,” Derek said. “They’re never going to believe I’m a professor. Mainly because of these clothes.”

“You look hot, shut up,” Stiles replied. “It’s up ahead. To the right.” 

Derek nodded, took a breath, and walked towards the room. He could detect four heartbeats, smell the distinct odors hunters always carried around. “Hey, Derek?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re gonna be fine. You got this.”

For some reason, that made Derek feel better. 

But he didn’t tell that to Stiles.

*

Monday morning, Derek walked into Argent’s office to find that Argent hadn’t arrived yet, but Stiles was already slumped in a chair, half-asleep. Derek took the chair beside Stiles and nudged him with his foot.

“Such a naughty girl,” Stiles mumbled, and Derek raised his eyebrow. He placed his own coffee on the floor and took off the lid of Stiles’ so he could hold it under Stiles’ nose. That seemed to do the trick. Stiles started blinking, his nose automatically following the coffee Derek pulled away until his head bumped into Derek’s arm. “What?” Stiles looked up at Derek groggily. “Fucking morning people.”

“I can take away the coffee, you know.”

“I’ll kill you if you do,” Stiles said. “You’ll never see it coming. Deadly chemical compound in your food, strategically placed car malfunction. I can do it, you know.”

“And they say I’m the crazy one,” Derek laughed as he handed Stiles the cup. Stiles made a filthy sound as he sniffed the coffee and then drank. (Or maybe Derek made up the filthy part. Derek had been thinking about a lot of filthy things where Stiles was concerned since the last op.)

By the time Argent arrived, Stiles looked mostly cogent. Argent eyed them both closely before giving them a terrifyingly creepy smile. “Seems like the partnership is going better than either of you expected.”

“What makes you say that?” Derek asked, his defenses immediately up. He knew there was no way Argent could know what happened between them, but he was still cautious. 

“You haven’t killed each other yet,” Argent started, “Neither of you have been in my office demanding a transfer, and you haven’t started arguing yet.”

“It’s too early to argue,” Stiles quipped, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Thanks to the intel from your last op, we have a lead on the Benefactor,” Argent started, going into business mode. “Plus, Lydia cracked the cipher key, so we have a whole new list of potential targets.” He handed over two folders. When Derek opened and flipped to the new part of the dead pool, he felt like someone had snatched the floor out from under him. 

“Do they know?” Derek asked, not caring that his voice broke. Stiles glanced at him, then turned to the list, his eyes growing wide as he read. Isaac, Erica, and Cora were names on this list. 

“They’ve been informed. Cora’s on assignment in South America, so she and her partner are being extra careful. They’re being pulled from the field as soon as they finish their mission. Erica’s been put on desk duty, which she was furious about, but Boyd agreed with me. Isaac should be safe in the lab.”

“What do you need us to do?” Derek asked, steeling himself. Just because most of his Pack was on the dead pool didn’t mean they would die. That didn’t stop the crushing panic Derek felt. 

“There’s chatter about an assassin who’s taken out multiple names on the list,” Argent explained. “Danny has traced some of his movements, but it’s been difficult.” He handed Stiles a file, and Derek leaned over to read over Stiles’ shoulder. It was computer read outs that meant nothing to him.

“This guy is good,” Stiles muttered to himself as he flipped through the pages. “He’s just leaving ghost imprints. Only Danny could have found these.” He glanced up at Argent. “This isn’t much to go on.”

“You and Danny need to pinpoint something about this guy,” Argent stated. “When you find something, we’ll send you and Derek in to try and take him down.”

Argent dismissed them, and Derek left the office on autopilot, his brain reeling. He needed to call Cora, needed to see his Pack, needed to make sure they were safe. He was so lost in his thoughts that when a hand landed on his arm, he turned around and snapped his fangs at the person. Stiles shrunk back, scared. Derek felt a moment of regret before he covered that with practiced anger.

“What?” he growled.

“I was going to ask if you were okay about,” Stiles waved his hand in the direction of the file. “But it’s obvious you’re not.”

Derek frowned and started to walk away, but Stiles’ arm grabbed his again. Derek growled low in his throat. 

“Typical,” Stiles muttered as he dropped his hand.

“What?”

“Fucking werewolves. Fucking…you!” Stiles flailed his hand around and hit Derek’s chest. “Just…fuck you, Derek. Go wallow in your own misery. See if I care!”

“Fine!” Derek yelled as he stormed one way.

“Fine!” Stiles yelled as he rushed towards the elevator. All the analysts were pretending not to stare, but Derek could feel their eyes on him and their curiosity stifled him. It took all his control not to growl and snap at them.

*

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd found Derek an hour later in the gym. “What did that poor bag do to you?” Erica asked as Derek threw a punch. He threw an extra hard one just because, and knocked the bag off the hinge. 

“Feel better?” Isaac stared at the bag now lying on the other side of the floor. “You’ve proven your Alpha-ness.” Derek growled, and all three Betas rolled their eyes.

“Is this manly, albeit kinda sexy, display of physical rage because our names are on the dead pool?” Erica asked. 

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re overreacting.” 

Derek looked at her like she was stupid. “Are you serious? Three members of my Pack are on a dead pool list.”

“Look at the bright side,” Boyd said, “they’re not worth that much.”

Erica punched his arm. “That kinda hurts, you know, not being worth much.” She sniffed dramatically, and Isaac rolled his eyes.

“Mason told us about your shouting match with Stiles,” Isaac said. “I thought you two were getting along.”

“He’s insufferable,” Derek growled, feeling his anger triple at the thought of Stiles. He pretended to ignore the look his Betas gave each other.

“I’m pretty sure he’s the only person who can tolerate you,” Erica said.

“Except us,” Boyd added.

“What was it you three wanted exactly?” Derek asked, annoyed. At that moment, all three of his Betas circled around him and wrapped their arms around him. He growled low in his throat as warning, but they didn’t heed him. It was an empty threat, anyway.

Something in him felt calmer with them around him, safe. As soon as Cora was back, maybe he could breathe easy again.

*

After Derek showered, he went to the fifth floor in search of Danny Mahealani’s office. He’d never had reason to be on the fifth floor before, and was only there now because he was looking for Stiles. Purely to see if he’d found anything, and dutifully ignoring how restless and unsettled he’d felt since their shouting match in the command room.

Derek saw them before they saw him. They were hunched over a computer, shoulders brushing, bodies pressed together as they squinted at a screen. Stiles rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, then Danny said something that made him laugh, and they turned to one another laughing and smiling. Derek wanted to claw that Mahealani guy’s face off.

Instead, he hovered in the doorway, feeling like an idiot holding two cups of coffee.

“Can I help you?” Danny asked when he noticed Derek lurking in the doorway. Derek just glowered holes into Danny’s skull. Stiles looked up, and he looked happy then angry to see Derek. That’s pretty much how Derek felt every time he saw Stiles, too.

“This is Derek Hale, my partner,” Stiles explained. “What do you want?”

Derek frowned and entered the room wordlessly. He slammed the cup of coffee onto the desk beside Stiles’ elbow. “Coffee, omg how did you know I needed it?” Stiles removed the lid and gulped it down, then started making small noises of distress. “Hot hot, shit, hot.” Derek smirked, and Stiles stuck his tongue out at him. “You probably did that on purpose.”

“Does he talk?” Danny asked, clearly eyeing Derek up and down. “Or does he just stand there and look hot?”

Derek raised an interested eyebrow in Danny’s direction, and Danny just grinned. He was still pressed against Stiles’ side, and Derek still kinda wanted to claw his face off. Stiles rolled his eyes. “Please don’t stroke his ego.”

“That’s not what I’d like to be stroking,” Danny flirted, winking at Derek. Derek gave him a feral grin, and Stiles pretended to vomit.

“I think I’m going to be sick. Would you two like me to leave so you can just go ahead and fuck already?” Stiles snapped, his face flushed in irritation. Derek felt a sick satisfaction at that.

“I came to see if you’d made any progress before I went home for the night,” Derek finally said.

“Not yet,” Stiles sighed, blowing on the coffee to cool it off. Derek tried hard not to look at those lips, and definitely tried not to recall the way they looked wrapped around his cock. “It’s going to be a long night.” Stiles leaned back in his chair, stretching and rubbing his eyes beneath the glasses, revealing a bit of skin as he arched and cracked his back. Derek’s wolf started howling to get back in a position so he could taste and touch that smooth skin.

“Good luck,” Derek said, nodding to both of them before exiting the room. He glanced back before he was out of eyesight and saw them leaning close as they talked quietly. Derek decided he really hated that Danny guy.

*

Erica barged into Derek’s apartment that night, trailed by Isaac and Boyd. They held bags of Derek’s favorite take-out, which was probably the only reason he didn’t throw them all into walls. They ate crowded together on the couch. Boyd won control of the remote and they watched _Pawn Stars_ and _Hoarders_ while Isaac and Erica made fun of him. 

Derek Skyped with Cora, though somehow Isaac took over the conversation and spent the rest of the night talking to Cora. Derek frowned as he looked on, and Erica told him to stop being so judgmental. Derek figured he’d kick Isaac’s ass for being into his sister next time Cora was home.

Derek grumbled when Erica, Boyd, and Isaac followed him to his bed, making themselves at home between the sheets before he could even brush his teeth. Derek would never admit it, but he slept better than he had in a long time.

*

“Derek! Hey, Derek – oh.” Derek shot up in bed, claws and fangs out, to find Stiles standing in the doorway to his bedroom. Stiles smirked. “Kinky.”

Derek glanced around him and rolled his eyes. Isaac had an arm thrown across Derek’s waist, and Erica’s legs were thrown over his, Boyd spooned up behind her. “It’s not what you think.”

“Who am I to judge werewolf pack dynamics?” Stiles asked as Derek tried to extricate himself from Isaac and Erica’s limbs. “I’ve spent many nights in Scott’s bed.” Derek shot him a look, and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Not like that, pervert. Unless you and your Pack get up to that kind of stuff, which if you do – “ Stiles fist-pumped. “You go, stud.”

“What are you doing here?” Derek growled as he stuffed his feet in his house shoes. Isaac and Erica were already gravitating towards each other as they rearranged themselves in their sleep. Derek closed the bedroom door behind him as he led the way towards the kitchen. “How did you even get into my house?”

“I used my key.” Stiles dangled a key from his fingers. 

Derek glared at it. “How in the hell did you get a key to my apartment?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’m a genius. Replicating a key isn’t that difficult.”

Derek grabbed a small cup of coffee, loaded his Keurig, and started the machine. “Explain to me why I shouldn’t snap your neck for barging into my den.”

Stiles snorted. “Do you always take this werewolf stuff so seriously? ‘My den.’ Dude, it’s an eastside high rise, not a cave you claimed in the wild.”

Derek rounded on Stiles, eyes flashing blue. “Who are you to lecture me about werewolves?”

Stiles shook his head with a derisive laugh. “Figures you know nothing about me. Here.” He threw a file at Derek’s head. “Danny and I found the assassin. We leave for Texas tomorrow morning.”

With that, Stiles stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

*

“Don’t like flying?” Stiles asked the next morning as they sat on the plane while people finished boarding. They were flying coach, so he was crowded between Stiles and a teenager who kept giving him weird looks. He was pretty sure the kid was smuggling drugs onto the plane, but policing teenagers wasn’t his job.

“Not particularly,” Derek said quietly. 

“Why? You know it’s the safest way to travel. Safer than even walking.”

“I prefer to drive.”

“Control freak. Figures.” Stiles tapped a rhythm on his leg, and the noise was driving Derek crazy. He reached out and stilled his hand. “Am I annoying you?” Stiles asked. Derek glared at him. “I’m pretty sure breathing annoys you.”

“When you do it.”

Stiles placed ear buds in his ears, and Derek tried not to think of the myriad ways he could die in an aircraft. He was a trained werewolf assassin. Planes should not be his downfall.

Halfway through the flight, after the kid next to him had fallen asleep and the flight attendant had given him a tiny cup of water and a bag of pretzels, Stiles took out his ear buds. “How you faring, big guy?”

“Fine.”

“How often do you fly?” he asked.

“As often as is required.”

“I love to fly,” Stiles told him. “I love airports, I love the planes, I love travelling.”

“Laura loved to fly,” Derek found himself saying. “She kept me…calm…when we had to fly. I’ve never flown without her.” Stiles nodded, but didn’t say anything. 

They rented a car and drove three hours to the location. An hour into the drive, Derek asked, “What’s your connection with werewolves?”

Stiles’ posture immediately changed. He seemed to turn in on himself, arms across his chest. “Scott McCall.”

“I know you’re friends with McCall,” Derek said. “A lot of people are friends with werewolves in the division.”

“I remember when Scott was bitten,” Stiles said quietly. Derek remained quiet and waited for Stiles to continue. “I read everything I could about werewolves after that night. I learned everything there was to learn. I still think I know more about them than Scott.”

That put Stiles’ words the morning before into some perspective, but just barely. Reading about werewolves in a book doesn’t make one an expert. 

When they got to the hotel, Stiles pushed Derek back onto the bed as soon as the door was closed and climbed on top of him. He pulled their cocks out and jacked them off with two hands, and all Derek could do was lie back and watch. He was helpless against Stiles. And that was troubling.

*

The roadside diner was dark and dingy, but it was close. Stiles was acting like he was dying of hunger, so Derek just turned off into the parking lot of the first restaurant he found. When they walked inside, Derek’s senses were bombarded with the stench of old liquor, lust, and sweat. 

“Biggest cheeseburger you got,” Stiles told the waitress. “And curly fries. And a milkshake.” She jotted it down, then turned to Derek. She leaned over enough to display her ample breasts, and smiled and twirled her hair around her finger. She was oozing so much sex Derek could barely breathe. He would rather get shot by wolfsbane again than fuck her.

“She wanted you, dude,” Stiles said after she walked away. He had ordered a water and a cheeseburger, anything to get her away. “You can hit that, I won’t be jealous.” Derek quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, fine, yes, I’d be jealous.”

The waitress brought his water and Stiles’ milkshake then, so Derek waited to respond until after they were alone again. “Does she look like my type?” 

Stiles shrugged and wrapped his lips around the straw. Derek couldn’t help but stare, and Stiles’ cheeks pinked under Derek’s gaze. He readjusted his glasses awkwardly. “I don’t know your type. I would hope you’d have better taste that that though.”

“Well, I have had sex with you,” Derek ribbed, and Stiles laughed. 

“Tell me something about yourself,” Stiles said while they were eating. “I know how many ways you can kill a man, what you cock tastes like, and that you sleep in a big bed with your Pack. But that still tells me literally nothing about you.”

“What do you want to know?” Derek asked after swallowing.

Stiles shakes his head. “Don’t care,” he said through a mouthful. “Anything.”

“I played basketball in high school.”

“Lacrosse,” Stiles said. “Something else.”

“I majored in history in college.”

“Keep going.”

Derek grunted in frustration. “I’m not good at…this.”

“What? Talking? Conversing with humans?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “That’s like the first truly personal thing you’ve said tonight.”

“I don’t see you divulging information,” Derek retorted.

“Dude, I have been divulging information since day one.” Derek couldn’t argue with him there.

“I know what people think of me,” Derek said. “I know what they say around the office. I know what you think of me.”

Stiles paled, his heartbeat spiking slightly. But he asked in a level voice, “And what do you know I think of you?”

“That I’m a dangerous, crazy, untrustworthy werewolf.”

“Maybe at one time,” Stiles admitted with a nod of his head. “Not anymore.”

Derek cocked his head to the side. “Are you sure?” Derek heard the skip in Stiles’ chest and laughed bitterly. “See?”

“At least I’m honest,” Stiles mumbled.

“I play Dungeons and Dragons,” Derek said. “Isaac and Boyd taught me. We play on the weekends sometimes. Erica is the best.”

Stiles grinned before taking a bite of his burger. “Now, that’s something personal.”

*

Derek thought that searching for a supernatural assassin in an abandoned warehouse was just too cliché. The place had multiple floors, with narrow hallways that opened into large rooms. Stiles’ trepidation came off him in waves, and Derek tried hard not to let it get under his skin. This was why people like Stiles should remain in the labs, not out in the field. But for now, Derek had to maneuver through an abandoned warehouse, find a murdering psychopath who had killed at least ten – if not more – supernatural creatures, and keep Stiles’ stupid face alive.

He should get paid more. Maybe he’d ask Argent for a raise.

“Do you hear anything?” Stiles whispered, though in the empty, long hall it sounded as loud as a voice.

“No,” Derek hissed. “Don’t talk.”

“I whispered!” Stiles argued. Derek stopped and turned, glaring with blue eyes. Stiles wasn’t impressed.

Carefully, Derek opened the first door, and instantly regretted it. The room smelled heavily of blood, bile, and excrement. It was mostly empty, save a chair in the corner and some shackles overhead. He quickly closed the door.

“What was in there?” Stiles asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

They continued along the hallway, then up a dark staircase to the second floor. The moment they stepped foot onto the landing, Derek stopped, causing Stiles to walk into him. Derek inhaled. “Fuck.”

“What?” Stiles asked, trying to look over Derek’s shoulder.

“Corpses.”

“Another ‘you don’t want to know’ would have been sufficient.”

Derek followed his nose down the hallway until the scent concentrated in front of a closed door. “You don’t have to come in,” Derek said with a look over his shoulder.

“And have you use that against me at our partner review with Argent? Hell no.” Stiles gulped nervously. “Lead the way.”

Derek opened the door, and Stiles gagged behind him. The scent was paralyzing, so Derek steeled himself and entered the room. Strung up around the room, covered in plastic, were corpses. Dozens of them. “I guarantee you they’re all on the dead pool,” Derek said. 

With his mouth covered, Stiles cautiously approached one and opened the plastic. A wendigo, from the look of the teeth. Derek opened a few others, found a fae and someone without physical supernatural traits. “Hey, Derek, look at this.” Derek walked over and joined Stiles, where he was cradling the arm of the wendigo with the plastic. “A number.” _250_ written in black ink. Derek checked a few of the other bodies. _2, 150, 750._ “It’s their prices,” Stiles said. “We’ve got to tell headquarters.”

“We need to keep searching for the target,” Derek said. 

Stiles was taking photos of the mark on the wendigo’s arm when Derek heard something from behind them. “Stiles, watch out!” Derek leapt, taking Stiles down to the floor and narrowly missing whatever object had been thrown. They fell to the ground with the thud, Derek taking most of the impact with his arms and legs wrapped around Stiles.

Derek spared a second to make sure Stiles was okay before turning around in a defensive crouch. A man walked towards them – a man with no mouth.

“What the fuck?!” Stiles exclaimed behind him.

“It’s him,” Derek said through his fangs. “Stiles, run, I’ve got this.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Stiles argued, and Derek saw the man pull a hatchet from his belt. 

He pushed Stiles away. “Go! I’ve got this.” Stiles hesitated for a moment before scrambling to his feet and tripping a few times as he ran towards the door.

Derek growled and leapt for the man. The man was too fast for him, and as Derek was gaining his footing on his way down, he felt an excruciating pain in his back. The man had thrown the hatchet at him and severed his spine.

Derek crumpled to the floor, his body spasming in pain. He could not believe this was happening, could not believe that he was going to die in this hell hole at the hands of a man with no mouth. He heard the footsteps approaching on the concrete floor, but was helpless to do anything. He couldn’t move. 

The man crouched beside Derek, lifted his arm, and with a black marker wrote _15_. 

_I’m on the dead pool_ , Derek thought as his arm dropped back to the floor. It shouldn’t surprise him, but he was suddenly terrified. He thought of Laura, wondered if this is what she felt before she had been murdered. He hoped she hadn’t seen it coming.

The man yanked the hatchet from Derek’s back, and he cried out in pain. The pain was so severe he felt lightheaded. Now that the hatchet was gone, his spine could start healing, but he wouldn’t live long enough for it to finish. Derek closed his eyes and braced himself. He just hoped Stiles had gotten out alive.

“Hey, fuckface!” Derek heard someone shout. Oh god, was that – Stiles’ voice? Derek couldn’t see what was going on, couldn’t even move, only lie there helplessly. Then he heard glass break and felt an intense heat. The man stumbled backwards enough so that Derek could see that he was on fire. Two shots fired, hitting the man square in the chest. He fell to the ground, his hatchet landing dangerously close to Derek’s face.

Stiles ran over and stood above the man, emptying two more bullets into him before feeling satisfied. Then, he dropped down beside Derek.

“Oh god, not again. Derek, are you alive? Derek?”

“I’m not deaf, goddammit.”

“Oh thank god,” Stiles laughed hysterically, slumping down on Derek’s back. “You’re bleeding.”

“A hatchet to the back usually does that.”

“What should I do?” Stiles asked, voice unsteady.

“Make sure that mouthless fucker doesn’t come back while my spine stitches itself back together,” Derek said. “I can’t move until then.”

Stiles pulled out his cell phone and called headquarters. They were sending a unit from the Houston office to the warehouse to collect the bodies and the man, who was still burning a few feet away.

“I told you to leave.”

“If I’d have done that, you’d be dead,” Stiles pointed out.

“You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“A thanks would be nice,” Stiles said. “I mean, I set a dude on fire for you.”

“Thanks,” Derek said sarcastically. He could feel Stiles’ body trembling, could smell the stink of his terror. It did nothing to calm Derek’s panic. He truly had thought he was going to die tonight.

A few moments later, Derek asked, “Why did you come back?”

“Contrary to what you might believe,” Stiles said, “I don’t actually want you dead. I kinda like having you around, even if you are a pain in my ass.” He paused, finally placing his gun in his lap. “Based on the layout of the building and the preservation of the bodies, I concluded they would have a cabinet somewhere filled with chemicals. It’s a good thing I’m always right.” Derek rolled his eyes. “I’m a shit shot in the dark and from afar. But I can chunk a Molotov cocktail thanks to lacrosse.”

“Thankfully you didn’t miss him and hit me.”

“I wouldn’t have hit you,” Stiles argued. 

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I did, don’t argue with me,” Stiles said. “I figured setting him on fire would confuse him for long enough for me to get close enough to shoot him.”

“You were lucky.”

“It’s strategy, Derek. That’s why they made me your partner.” Stiles ran one hand over Derek’s hair while fingers from his other hand poked near his wound. “Good thing, too.”

Whatever sarcastic remark Derek thought died on his tongue. Stiles gathered his head into his lap, and ran his fingers through his hair gently. Stiles’ scent surrounded him, and it calmed him, even as his back burned with the pain of his healing wound. He was too tired, and Stiles’ hands felt too good in his hair. 

*

“Good job on your last assignment,” Argent said. He sat across the desk from Stiles and Derek, thick folders in front of him. “We identified all the victims in the warehouse and matched them to the names on the dead pool.” He took a thin folder from the top of the pile. “With the knowledge that Hale is worth fifteen million dollars – “

“Way too much, in my opinion,” Stiles grumbled. Derek glared at him and Argent gave a long-suffering sigh.

“That opens the possibility of another part of the dead pool.”

“I’ve already started working on a strategy to obtain the next part,” Stiles said. Argent looked at him with interest. “It was the most logical step. Danny and I spent last night in the lab, trying to backtrace code.”

Derek tried to ignore the flare of jealousy at Danny’s name. He did not want to think about Stiles and Danny working all night alone in the lab.

“Any luck?” Argent asked.

“Nope.”

“Keep at it. I’ll brief you as soon as you have a new mission.” With a nod of Argent’s head, they were dismissed.

Outside the office, Stiles asked, “How’s the back?”

“Healed.”

“Good,” he replied. He pushed his glasses up his nose before stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking on his feet awkwardly. Derek could feel the nerves pouring from him. 

“I’ll see you later,” Derek said. Stiles nodded, and Derek was surprised at the smell of disappointment in the air. But Derek couldn’t think of a good reason to stay.

*

“Fuck!” Stiles exclaimed, pushing himself up from the mat again. “This is hopeless.”

“Stop your whining,” Derek said. “Get back into position.”

Stiles grunted, but crouched into a defensive position on the other edge of the mat. They had been sparring for over an hour, and Stiles was panting and dripping with sweat. Derek wasn’t even winded. When Derek moved in on Stiles, he easily overtook him and flattened him on the mat. 

“You’re dead,” Derek said from above Stiles. He had Stiles’ body caged with his own, palms and knees resting along the sides of Stiles’ body, face mere inches from Stiles.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “This is so fucking pointless.”

“You’re like an open book,” Derek explained. This close, his nostrils were invaded by the stench of Stiles’ sweat and frustration. It made him want to close the few inches between them and lick the sweat from the hollow of Stiles’ throat.

“How? I am a trained agent. I can’t be that easy to read.” Derek smirked. “Fine, go ahead and wow me with your psychic knowledge. How am I so predictable?”

“You have a tell,” Derek said. 

“Do not,” Stiles argued. Derek raised an eyebrow. “Fine, where’s my tell?”

Derek raised his hand and dragged a finger along the edge of Stiles’ eye. “Right there,” he whispered. Derek immediately smelled Stiles’ spike of arousal ; Stiles swallowed.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Derek smirked, but Stiles caught him off guard and lunged up, knocking him in the forehead and wrestling Derek onto his back.

“Bet you didn’t see a fucking tell then,” Stiles panted above him, hands pinning Derek’s wrists and his knee pressed just this side of painful against his balls.

“I could rip out your throat before you blinked,” Derek pointed out. Stiles pressed against his balls with more force, causing Derek to shift uncomfortably.

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Stiles stared at Derek for a moment, then Stiles lifted his chin to expose his neck. Derek’s wolf howled inside him, and he felt his fangs pushing against his gums uncomfortably. “You’re a good werewolf. A reformed werewolf.” Stiles turned his head and looked at Derek in the eyes. “You’ve been through the program.”

Derek pushed Stiles off of him with so much force that he slid across the mat on his ass. He leapt to his feet, eyes flashing blue. “Werewolves don’t need to be reformed. There’s nothing wrong with us.”

Stiles scoffed. “Model citizens.”

Derek took a few deep breaths through his nose, then stepped to the middle of the mat. “Shut up and show me your hand-to-hand combat.”

Derek held back as he sparred with Stiles, refusing to hit him hard enough to bruise despite that fact that he wanted to shove Stiles into the wall. Repeatedly.

*

Derek found Stiles in the tech lab two days later. He tried not to glare a hole into Danny’s skull, but failed miserably.

“Your partner doesn’t like me,” Danny said as Derek silently walked over to Stiles.

“You’re not special, Danny boy,” Stiles said, clapping Danny on the shoulder, “Derek doesn’t like anyone.”

“Except you apparently.” Danny raised his eyebrows at Derek. Derek’s glower deepened and Stiles blushed.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Stiles asked, obviously trying to cut the tension. “Not that your general brooding presence isn’t always welcome.”

“Weapons expo.”

Stiles waited, but when Derek didn’t elaborate, he leaned forward. His mouth pulled down in an exaggerated frown as his eyebrows shot up. He nodded, a pen twirling between those long fingers. “Ice cream sundae.” At Derek’s confused expression, Stiles said, “I thought it was utter useless phrases day.”

Derek exhaled heavily through his nose. “There’s a weapons expo downtown. I thought you might like to go.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Stiles said, standing up and shrugging on his jacket. “He knows exactly how to charm me, Danny.”

“You’re a tool, Stilinski.”

Stiles winked at Danny as he followed Derek out of the lab. Derek drove them, and he tried to ignore the concentrated scent of Stiles in his car, in his space. On the way to the expo center, Stiles asked, “So, do you do this a lot? Go to weapons expos? Does it get you excited?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Because I asked a question? Wow, someone’s got his little werewolf panties in a twist.” Derek growled, and Stiles huffed. “Does that usually work? The little growly trick?”

Derek didn’t answer.

The weapons expo was in the large exhibition hall downtown. They had to show their badges and go through a security check that included a retinal scan. Derek was given a sticker to place on his badge indicating he was a Were. 

“Fucking ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath as he followed Stiles into the large room. 

“I agree,” Stiles said. “What’s a sticker gonna do against the weapons you always carry around with you?” He grinned, but Derek wasn’t amused. 

“I’m obviously not a threat,” Derek said. “I’ve been through the program. This is discrimination.”

“Werewolves are dangerous,” Stiles said. “You can’t blame them for wanting to be safe.”

Derek clenched his fingers into tight fists. This was not the place to bloody his partner. He still wanted to punch Stiles’ incorrect face in. “How can you talk about Weres like that,” Derek asked, “when your own best friend is one? You’re part of a Pack.”

“Scott was bitten. It wasn’t his choice. But it’s not like I haven’t chained him up numerous times before,” Stiles explained. “I know he’s dangerous. But he learned to control himself. He’s Scott first, a wolf second.”

“That’s bullshit,” Derek said as they walked through the doors and into the large room. “You can’t separate them like that. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Scott’s my best friend,” Stiles said. “I trust him.” 

Those words stung more than Derek wanted to admit.

The whole place was jammed full of vendor tables selling everything from smoke bombs to wolfsbane-laced daggers. Derek frowned as he looked at a row of daggers labeled by wolfsbane variety. 

Stiles picked one up and stared at it curiously. “Isn’t this illegal?” he asked. “I thought wolfsbane weapons were outlawed for citizens.”

“They are,” Derek growled at the vendor.

“I have a license!” the man said nervously. “There is nothing illegal about this. There isn’t anything wrong with people wanting to protect themselves from rogue Weres.”

“I’ll get my dad to investigate it,” Stiles said, dragging Derek away from the vendor. Derek had to fight to keep his fangs and claws at bay. Stiles led them instead towards a table of elaborate guns. “Awesome.”

Stiles picked one up, looked through the scope, and then put it back down. Then, he picked up a loaded crossbow and pointed it. 

“Do you know how to use one of those?” Derek asked.

“No.”

Derek raised his eyebrows and looked at the table. “Then put it down.” Stiles frowned and set it carefully on the table.

On the next aisle, Derek found a small dagger with protective runes on it. He picked it up, examined it carefully, and then handed it to Stiles, hilt first. “What do you think?”

Stiles took it. “It’s nice.”

“I think it’ll work well for you. It’s light, easy to use, and covered in protection runes.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who believed in rune magic,” Stiles said, staring at Derek in surprise.

“I’m full of surprises.” Derek paid for the dagger, and when Stiles tried to give him money, Derek placed his hand over his wrist. “A gift,” he said. “It’ll protect you.”

“I’m not sure I’m the one who needs protecting,” Stiles said. 

Derek held his gaze for a beat too long, then walked further down the aisle.

*

A few days later, Derek came into Stiles’ shared office. Stiles’ office mate, Malia, waved at Derek. “I’d say I’m glad you decided to finally come visit me, except I know you’re here for Stiles.” Derek looked at her contritely. She was his cousin, but he barely ever saw her because they belonged to different packs. She rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that look. It’s pathetic.” Derek smirked.

“Busy?” he asked Stiles. Stiles shrugged, so Derek led him two buildings over to the gym.

“I don’t want to spar today,” Stiles complained.

“We’re not sparring,” Derek said, turning left and taking the door to the stairwell. When they entered the firing range, Stiles was confused. “I want you to practice. You said you were shit at hitting targets.”

“I didn’t mean that I wanted to learn,” Stiles protested.

“You’re in the field now,” Derek said. “You need to learn to shoot.”

“Fine.” Stiles took the gun Derek offered him, put on the protective ear and eye wear, and then emptied a clip. Derek hit the button, and the paper target came towards them. Derek grabbed it and looked at it with a frown.

“This is terrible.”

“And you’re better, Mr. Perfect?” Stiles retorted.

“Better than this.” Derek set up a new target and sent it back down the lane. “Where did you learn to shoot?”

“Scott, my dad. But that was mostly for recreation. You know, hitting bottles and stuff.”

“Here, let me show you.” Derek moved close to Stiles, body pressed along Stiles’ back, and wrapped his arms around him. Stiles’ heart elevated slightly, a slight uptick in tempo mixed with the faint scent of Stiles’ arousal. Derek turned his nose and inhaled, just behind Stiles’ ear, intoxicated by his scent. He forced himself to position Stiles’ arms, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary on Stiles’ wrists. “Hold it like this,” he whispered into Stiles’ ear.

“Okay,” Stiles replied with a shudder. Derek dragged his nose along Stiles’ hair, allowing himself to inhale again as he did. Stiles’ body was warm and firm against his own, and it would be so easy just to lean forward and brush a light kiss across that flushed cheek. Instead, Derek parted his lips and breathed against Stiles’ neck. “Now what?” Stiles asked, bringing Derek from his thoughts.

“Wrap your hands around the gun like this,” Derek instructed as he covered Stiles’ hands with his own. They felt soft and perfect, and Derek couldn’t stop himself from dragging his thumb along the edge of Stiles’ hand. “You want to squeeze the trigger. Aim the gun, and squeeze.” Stiles followed his instructions, and they emptied three more clips before Derek moved away from Stiles’ body. The last time, Stiles had mostly hit his target every time.

Derek excused himself afterwards and found a deserted bathroom and jerked off with the scent of Stiles still clinging to his clothes.

*

“Lydia!” Stiles exclaimed when she came into his office the next day. Derek was up there for no reason other than being around Stiles. He was playing Canasta with Malia while Stiles worked through some strategic plan that kept resulting in him and Derek getting blown up. Derek decided not to ask when it came to what Stiles actually did. He still hadn’t figured it out yet.

Lydia frowned at Stiles. “It’s Assistant Director Martin, how many times do I have to tell you that _Agent_ Stilinski.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Whatever, potato, po-tah-to. Whatcha got for me?”

“You and Hale, conference room, now.” She turned around and stalked off, her heels clicking down the hall. 

Derek followed Stiles a few doors down to a conference room. He closed the door behind him and walked over to the table. Assistant Director Martin had spread various folders and documents over the table. Stiles was right beside her, much too familiar for an agent and assistant director. Derek frowned.

“The intel gathered at the warehouse proved invaluable. The Mute – the codename given to the assassin Stiles took down – has been connected to half of the dead pool deaths. We’ve had agents working on those bodies and tracking the payments.” A knock sounded on the door, and then Kira stuck her head inside. “Right on time. Kira found some valuable evidence on the bodies.”

“Hey Derek,” she greeted brightly, giving him a one-armed hug before syncing her tablet with the screen in the room. A magnified image of something, a spreadsheet, and a graph all became visible. “After some careful analysis, I discovered that most of the killings and most of the names on the dead pool list originated in a very small, concentrated area.” She swiped over the screen of her tablet, and a map with dots appeared on the larger screen. “As you can see, they started in this area in eastern California.”

“We believe,” Martin said, “that the benefactor is around this area somewhere. We have a lead on someone who is highly connected with the benefactor. You’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

Derek talked to Kira for a few minutes after the assistant director dismissed them, and when he left the room, Stiles was still talking to Martin. As soon as Derek was in the hall, Stiles jogged up beside him. 

“How do you know Assistant Director Martin?” Derek asked. 

“Oh, Lydia?” Stiles asked, glancing over his shoulder. “We grew up together. I was in love with her for like half my life.”

“Oh.”

Stiles chuckled and bumped Derek’s shoulder gently. “It’s not like that. We never dated. Which is definitely for the best. We would have been horrible.”

“It doesn’t matter if you did or didn’t.”

“Sure.” A smile played around Stiles’ mouth.

*

Their next mission led them to eastern California, to a town where he had been with Laura before. They had even stayed in this same hotel. 

Derek couldn’t get himself out of his own head. His wolf whined and howled inside him, grieving for Laura’s absence. As soon as they entered the hotel room, Derek lay down on the bed and turned his back to Stiles. He closed his eyes and fought off the overwhelming guilt and grief, supercharged by Stiles’ anxiety permeating the room.

Derek didn’t know how long he had lain there before Stiles finally came around to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge in front of Derek. Derek growled at him, fangs and claws out.

“Look, I don’t have to be a werewolf to feel how miserable you are,” Stiles said. “First question: Do you want to talk about it?” Derek’s only response was an even angrier growl. “That’s what I thought. Second question: Will you bite off my face if I blow you?” The question surprised Derek, and his fangs and claws receded. Stiles smirked triumphantly and rolled Derek onto his back. “Good choice,” he said as he straddled Derek’s legs and started unbuttoning his jeans. “Because you need some distraction, and I need to focus. Sucking dick always helps me focus.” With that, Stiles leaned down and swallowed Derek down.

It was an effective distraction. Derek kept his mind on Stiles’ mouth, on fucking up into that wet heat as he gripped Stiles’ hair like a lifeline. When Stiles finished with Derek, Derek watched as Stiles stretched out beside him and jerked off. It was quite possibly the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

Stiles remained there, stretched out on Derek’s bed, feet propped on Derek’s pillow, his arm draped over Derek’s legs. They didn’t say a word, and Derek didn’t kick him off the bed. 

Derek ignored the implications of the situation. The last thing he wanted to think about was how Stiles was the only person to keep him from his own thoughts since Laura died. 

Instead, he rested a hand on Stiles’ hip and listened to the soft sounds of his breathing.

*

“You never let me drive!” Stiles whined as they walked towards the car the next morning. “Let me drive. My driving record is better than yours – I looked it up – so theoretically, I’m better for your car than you are.”

Derek still felt on edge, the ghost of Laura hanging around him at every corner. He’d had a fitful night’s sleep, waking up every hour from nightmares. The only thing that kept him from falling completely apart had been Stiles beside him, his hand resting on Derek’s thigh as he slept. As Stiles kept needling him to let him drive, he didn’t even fight him. He tossed him the keys wordlessly and got into the passenger side. Derek silently thanked Stiles for not making a sarcastic comment for once.

All they had was a rough idea of the general area the dead pool killings were supposed to be originating from, but that wasn’t very much to go on. Stiles parked the car on the side of the road, and Derek quickly stripped and shifted. Stiles didn’t react with fear or horror this time; Derek wasn’t sure he could have taken it if he had.

“Smell anything?” Stiles asked as Derek sniffed the ground, trying to pick up a trail. He caught something half a mile down the road, leading off into the woods. Derek led the way through the underbrush and navigated between trees. Stiles walked loudly behind him, but the scent was still too far away for that to be a problem.

When the scent got stronger, Derek paused and listened. He heard the sounds of multiple heartbeats; they were supernatural, not human. They probably hadn’t found the source of the dead pool, but it was worth checking out anyway. Shifting just to speak to Stiles would take too much energy, so he padded over to Stiles and tried to communicate with him. He nudged his leg to get his attention.

“What? Did you get something?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded and pointed his muzzle in the direction of the noise. “Great! Let’s go.” 

Stiles started walking, but Derek blocked his path. When Stiles stopped, Derek raised a leg and pressed a paw against Stiles’ leg. Then, he walked over to a fallen log, turned around to look at Stiles, and touched the log with his paw.

“What?”

Derek huffed in irritation and touched the log again, looking pointedly at Stiles and then the log.

“You want me to sit on the log?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded. “Why?”

Derek rolled his eyes and trotted over to Stiles, then bent down to nudge at his feet with his nose. Then he looked up at Stiles.

“My feet?” Derek nodded. “I don’t know what in the - _oh!_ I’m too loud.”

Derek nodded and rolled his eyes, making a mental note never to play charades with Stiles.

“Fine.” Stiles walked over to the log and dropped onto it petulantly. “But be aware I’m only submitting to this idea because I can’t strategically find any way we’d end up dying because of it. Unless you’re a real dumbass and do something stupid.” Stiles shot him a pleading look. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Derek walked over and nuzzled into Stiles’ side to reassure him. He was bombarded with Stiles’ scent, which had somehow gotten even better since the last time he’d been in his wolf form. Derek wanted to nuzzle and lick his skin, find out if it tasted as good as it smelled. Instead, he lifted his head and looked at Stiles.

“Be careful,” Stiles said quietly as he lifted his hand and ran his fingers through Derek’s fur, right behind his ears. Derek emitted a soft whine, Stiles’ fingers like fire as they scratched through his fur. He moved a bit closer and licked the underside of Stiles’ jaw before turning around and disappearing into the woods. 

Derek had to circle the cabin three times before he could concentrate on anything besides the taste of Stiles on his tongue.

*

“You’re pissed, aren’t you?” Stiles asked. They were sitting beside a pile of bodies while Derek pressed his own t-shirt against Stiles’ arm to stop the bleeding. “Why are you pissed?”

“Not pissed,” Derek snapped. He pulled the t-shirt away from the wound, now stained a dark black red. The gash on Stiles’ arm was deep and wide, and he had nothing to sew it up with right here. The gash on Stiles’ abdomen was shallow, but if it had been much deeper, Stiles would be dead. At least Stiles’ nose had stopped bleeding, though it was still crusted with blood. The bruise on his cheek wouldn’t show for a few hours yet. Derek’s own wounds were mostly healed, his bare chest and back streaked in blood.

“You’re pissed.” Stiles sighed and moved, then hissed in pain. Derek frowned at where Stiles touched his ribs gingerly; they were more than likely bruised, too. “I’ve gotten you out of much worse.”

“I heal.”

“Look at the bright side,” Stiles said with a crooked grin. He held up the dagger Derek had given to him. “Your rune magic must be worth something. This protected me.”

“Can you be serious for _one fucking minute_?” Derek seethed. “You could have _died_!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Stiles exclaimed, showing the first crack in his bravado. There was a slight tremor in Stiles’ hand, a slight break in his voice. Derek wanted to pull Stiles into a dark corner, curl around him, and lick his wounds.

Derek pressed the t-shirt against Stiles’ side with more force. 

“But you were there,” Stiles said quietly a few moments later. 

“I’m your partner,” Derek said. Stiles reached out and touched an almost healed gash across Derek’s bare chest. 

“Is that it?” Stiles asked. Derek glanced up at him; he was too tired, too hyped up on adrenaline, the taste and scent of Stiles too fresh in his senses to see the look in Stiles’ eyes. He knew he was helpless against Stiles on a good day, and right now he was way too vulnerable.

“What else would it be?” Derek asked.

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Of course, what else would it be?” His fingers followed along the gash on Derek’s skin, causing a shiver to pass through Derek. Derek gingerly spread his fingers against Stiles’ ribs, the pain sharp as he drew it from Stiles, black lines standing out on his forearms.

*

Derek couldn’t focus on his report. His mind was too occupied with Stiles. He’d gone to see Melissa in the Healer’s Ward when they’d returned to headquarters. Derek had done everything he could to stench the bleeding, then created makeshift bandages from a blanket in the back of his car. They’d bought a frozen burrito at a gas station for Stiles to put on his eye, and Derek was pretty sure the attendant thought the shirtless man covered in blood was there to rob him. Derek paid with a $50 for a $1.29 burrito and didn’t ask for change.

“You know,” Stiles said from over Derek’s shoulder, startling Derek. The fact that Stiles snuck up on a werewolf reflected Derek’s mental state. “You’re reports are usually shit and under explained on a normal day, but this is just pathetic.”

Derek typed, _My dumbass partner got into a fight and almost got his stupid face bashed in by a Yeti._

“No,” Stiles said, reaching around Derek with both arms, “that won’t do at all.” He started typing. _My delightful and sexy partner engaged in combat and fought heroically, despite his opponent’s superior strength, height, and supernatural ability. I came in and ripped the opponent to shreds with my wolfie teeth and claws, like the control freak I am. I must always be in control of every fight, because I think my delightful and sexy partner incapable of fighting._

_Oh, and it was a Behemoth, not a Yeti._

When Stiles finished typing, Derek glanced over his shoulder and glared. Stiles smiled, the skin around his eye a dark purple. “See? Much more entertaining, and much more accurate.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Derek asked. 

“Tired of resting. I was going stir crazy around my apartment,” Stiles explained, hands still on the keyboard. Derek didn’t reply, but pushed Stiles’ hands off the keyboard so he could delete what he’d typed. Stiles took the seat beside him. “I heard Parrish and Dunbar found the final part of the dead pool.”

Derek stared at the screen, fingers poised above the keys.

“How does Boyd feel about being on the dead pool?” Stiles asked.

“Same as Erica and Isaac,” Derek replied.

Stiles nodded. Then, he slowly reached out and placed a hand on Derek’s arm. “How do you feel about it?”

“We already knew I was worth fifteen million,” Derek said, trying to ignore Stiles’ thumb rubbing slowly along his arm. “The Mute made sure of that.”

“But now it’s official.”

“Doesn’t change anything.” 

Stiles waited a moment, then squeezed Derek’s forearm, and left his office.

*

Derek smelled him before he opened the door, but he didn’t believe it until he saw Stiles standing on the other side of the door. 

“What are you doing here?” he barked out, much more harshly than he intended. Stiles didn’t look phased.

“I feel restless,” Stiles said. “My…everything hurts, and I got a burrito and didn’t want to eat it alone.”

Derek stepped aside so Stiles could enter the loft. After he closed the door, he said, “I’m not going to blow you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude, it hurts when I breathe and eat and take a shit. The last thing I want is to come. Wait,” he paused thoughtfully as he sat on the couch, “I’d actually love a great blowjob, but it’d hurt too bad. That’s not why I came over here.” He pointed at Derek as he sat on the other end of the couch. “You’re the one with sex on the brain.”

“Why are you restless?” Derek asked, ignoring Stiles’ last words.

Stiles shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Derek watched him closely, and Stiles took the opportunity to steal the remote. Derek said, “It’s difficult, the first time you almost die.” 

Stiles set the remote aside and chewed his burrito thoroughly before swallowing. “How did you know?”

“It took a week for me to remove myself from my Pack after my first time,” Derek explained. 

“A week?” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek nodded. He swallowed, then said, “My family died a few years before that. I didn’t take almost dying very well.”

Stiles didn’t say he was sorry; in fact, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he scooted closer to Derek on the couch, close enough so he could lean into him. Derek reached over, slid his hand under Stiles’ t-shirt, and took away some of his pain.

Derek idly watched the boring, mindless crap that Stiles left the television on. Somehow after Stiles finished his burrito, he ended up lying on the couch with his feet in Derek’s lap. Derek rubbed his ankle lightly, his thumb going round and round his ankle bone.

“Every time I close my eyes,” Stiles said later, “I see that thing coming at me, see its teeth and feel its claws. I think about leaving my dad and Scott. It’d kill my dad.” 

Derek didn’t answer, just pressed his thumb into the arch of Stiles’ foot.

Stiles fell asleep before eleven, and Derek covered him with a blanket and left him on the couch. Derek woke up several hours later when he felt the bed dip and Stiles crawling into bed beside him. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Stiles whispered.

“No.”

“Good,” Stiles said, snuggling into the mattress and stealing all the blankets. “Wouldn’t have mattered if you did.” 

Derek tried to settle down and fall back asleep, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Stiles was in the bed beside him, in _his_ bed in his _home._

“Derek?” Stiles asked a few minutes later. Derek grunted in response. “Would you miss me if I died?”

Derek didn’t answer; he rolled over and spooned behind Stiles, dropping a kiss to the back of his neck. He felt Stiles relax into him, and Derek fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.

*

It took Stiles two weeks to recover. Stiles came over to Derek’s every few days, bringing dinner or cooking dinner in Derek’s kitchen. It should have bothered Derek that Stiles moved around his house like he belonged there, that his scent was becoming part of the walls, part of the floors.

“You don’t have to add that to the chicken,” Derek said, glancing up as Stiles added chili sauce to the pan. “I know you hate spicy food.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” Stiles said. “I didn’t add much. Plus, I’m covering it in cilantro, which I know you love.”

“You love cilantro,” Derek corrected.

“Shut up, you love it, too,” Stiles said. “Just not as much as me.” Derek smiled and turned back to his phone, where he was writing an e-mail to Cora.

Stiles went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a soda, which Derek didn’t drink but had bought for Stiles, and then removed ingredients that Derek had bought when he’d gone to the grocery store with Stiles. “What do you usually eat? These cabinets and refrigerator are ridiculous,” Stiles had said, so Derek took him to the store to shut him up. Plus, he liked how happy Stiles felt when they were shopping for groceries, but he’d never tell Stiles that.

“Why didn’t you go into politics like your father?” Derek asked after setting his phone aside. He sat on a stool, elbows leaning on the island. 

Stiles looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you seriously asking me that question? After all this time together, you think I’d be good at politics?”

“Oh, I know you’d be horrible.”

Stiles tossed a dinner roll at Derek’s head. “Then why did you ask?”

“Curious. I read your file. You were supposed to follow in your father’s footsteps. You had a lot of arrests.”

“Politics aren’t really my thing,” Stiles said, placing a lid over the chicken. “I don’t bullshit well, or work well with people. In high school, I got into a lot of trouble because of all the werewolf stuff with Scott. We were trying to protect the town from all the weird shit that came through, and that resulted in a lot of vandalism, trespassing, and other random charges.”

“So, it was all in the name of duty?” Derek asked.

Stiles shot him a wicked grin. “Not entirely. I got arrested for public indecency once because I was running around campus naked. Couple of public intoxication arrests, one for possession of pot.” He shrugged. “College.”

“I’m surprised they hired you,” Derek teased.

“When your dad’s The Admiral,” Stiles said with fake seriousness, “people look the other way. Plus, I’m a genius. They need me.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so full of yourself.” Stiles pushed Derek gently as he walked past him, his fingers dragging over Derek’s shoulders. 

Stiles fell asleep on the couch that night like he had just about every other night. Without fail, just like every other night he slept over, he crawled into Derek’s bed a few hours later. They never had sex, just slept curled together. 

Stiles’ presence didn’t go unnoticed by his Pack. One night, Erica commented on it. “His scent is everywhere,” she said as she sniffed Derek’s sheets. “Should you tell us something? How does dating someone from a different Pack work?” Derek threw her into a wall, and no one said anything else about Stiles to Derek.

*

During the two weeks, they practiced Stiles’ skills at the shooting range, but held off on sparring until his ribs were healed. The day they met in the gym, Derek didn’t even speak to Stiles.

When Stiles entered the ring, he was glib and nonchalant. It just infuriated Derek. Stiles had _almost died_ , and he was joking around?

Derek didn’t hold back. He had Stiles pinned on his back before he could even blink. “What the fuck was that?” Stiles exclaimed.

“You need to be ready,” Derek said through gritted teeth.

“For what? My crazy partner pouncing on me?”

Derek sprung up and paced to the other end of the ring. “Everyone we fight will be faster, stronger, and bigger than you.”

“Way to bruise my ego, dude.”

“I don’t give two shits about your ego,” Derek barked. “You need to start fighting like you’re up against monsters.”

“Fine!” Stiles said, getting into position. 

Derek was ruthless. He held back just enough strength so as not to crush Stiles’ bones, but he bruised and battered him. He was _angry_ , so fucking angry. The longer they sparred, the more he realized just how _breakable_ Stiles really was, and that pissed him off even more. Stiles shouldn’t be his partner, shouldn’t even be doing this job.

“We’re done,” Derek finally said, ducking between the ropes and hopping to the floor.

“What?” Stiles exclaimed. “Where are you going? We’re not done!”

Derek didn’t respond as he continued out of the gym.

*

It shouldn’t have surprised Derek when Stiles showed up at the loft that night. He was wearing a t-shirt and a hoodie, but Derek could smell the bruises on him. That pissed him off for entirely different reasons.

“What is wrong with you?” Stiles asked, pushing his way past Derek. “You tried to kill me on the mat today, and then you just leave before we were finished.”

Derek faced Stiles, arms crossed over his chest. Stiles mirrored his pose, mocking him. “You’re a dick.”

“You’ve got to learn,” Derek finally said. 

“I’ve been learning! I’m a good shot now, and my fighting skills were getting better. But today, there is no way in hell I can ever compete with that.”

“Then you’re gonna die,” Derek stated bluntly.

Stiles’ face went completely blank, all his emotions hidden. It was impressive, all his agent training coming to fruition in that moment. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but ended up walking out of the loft instead.

*

Their next mission took them to right outside San Francisco, where they were tracking a lead on the Benefactor, a guy named Brunski. Inside the hotel room, Derek flipped on the television and stopped it on a baseball game while Stiles browsed through files. Derek tuned out Stiles’ mumblings and dozed in between innings.

After awhile, Stiles closed the book with a loud thump and asked, “How did Laura die?” Derek froze at the question. “They say it was your fault. When my father chose you as my partner, I was surprised because of your reputation.”

Derek turned to Stiles. “Do you think it was my fault?”

Stiles shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“Why do you hate werewolves so much?” Derek asked.

“You first,” Stiles smirked.

“You read the report,” Derek said. “You’d have been stupid not to.”

“I know how shitty your reports are,” Stiles said. “I want your version.”

Derek closed his eyes, remembered coming back from a routine recon mission to find Laura missing from their hotel room. He followed her scent into the nearby woods, where he found the top half of her body.

“I wasn’t there to protect her,” Derek said finally said, opening his eyes. 

“Bullshit,” Stiles said. “There is no way in hell it was your fault your partner died.”

“How do you know?” 

“Because you wouldn’t let me die!” Stiles exclaimed. “And she was your sister! I’m…I’m…nobody!”

“Not nobody,” Derek snapped.

“Then what am I, Derek?” Stiles asked angrily. When Derek didn’t answer, Stiles leapt off the bed and pointed a finger in his face. “This, this is your fucking problem. I’m your partner. I’m more than your partner! But you can’t just fucking _talk to me!_ ”

Derek lunged from the bed, causing Stiles to stumble back a few steps. “You think because we fuck we’re more than partners?” He sneered. “You hate werewolves. You think we should be branded like fucking criminals, don’t trust us. You’d probably be like the old hunters who killed innocent Weres just for existing!”

“How can you even suggest – “ Stiles spat. “My best friend is a werewolf. And you – “

“I’m what, Stiles?” Derek asked, crowding into Stiles’ space. “I’m a werewolf, born and bred. Does that make me a killer? A monster that should be put down?”

“No.”

“Why do you hate Weres so much?” Derek asked again. “What made you hate us like you do?”

“Because I was there that night!” Stiles exclaimed. “I saw that wolf bite Scott. I watched it torture him for weeks while it tried to force him to kill, to join his Pack. I watched him rip Scott to bits with his claws and teeth – his own Beta – before we put it down that night.” Stiles’ rage poured off him, and Derek took a step back. There was pain, so much pain, underneath that rage. Pain Derek understood, had felt himself so many times before. “What kind of monster does that?” Stiles asked. “In my experience, there are no good werewolves,” he added. “Look at your own uncle.”

“Don’t talk about my family,” Derek growled. 

“He killed your family!” Stiles exclaimed. 

“Then why don’t you leave?” Derek’s eyes burned blue, and his fangs pressed with so much pressure against his gums that it took everything he had to keep them at bay. “No one is forcing you to stay here with this monster you despise.”

“Because I love you, you idiot!” Stiles shouted.

Derek stared at Stiles, stunned. Stiles’ expression mirrored his own. Stiles said…he loved him? 

“Derek,” Stiles started, taking a step away, “I – “

But Derek couldn’t let him get away, couldn’t let him finish that sentence and take it away. Not when Derek realized with dangerous clarity just how fucking much he loved Stiles, too. He lunged forward, taking Stiles’ face between his hands, and kissed him hungrily.

Stiles kissed him back, fingers clawing at Derek’s arms. Stiles tasted sweet, like the woods after a rainstorm, and Derek felt intoxicated by it. He had wrapped his lips around Stiles’ cock and swallowed down his come, but kissing him was better than anything they had shared before.

Derek bent down and grabbed him under his thighs, lifting him easily so he could carry him to one of the beds. Derek didn’t even want to break the kiss for the time it took to remove their shirts, but when he lifted up to divest his t-shirt, he got a chance to look at Stiles. He was shirtless, his glasses tossed recklessly onto the nightstand, and staring up at Derek in wonder. Derek ran a hand over his bare chest, then ran a thumb under his eye.

When Derek recaptured his mouth, the kiss was slower, sweeter, full of things Derek didn’t even know he could feel. It exhilarated him as much as it terrified him. He knew that he had made a step he couldn’t reverse, that he had leapt into his feelings for Stiles without looking. But he didn’t care, not with Stiles’ smooth, warm skin beneath him, his scent surrounding him completely.

They broke apart only when Derek got off the bed to get the lube from Stiles’ bed. Stiles had kicked off his pants while Derek was off the bed, and Derek was able to fully appreciate how beautiful he was lying naked and hard on the bed. All for him.

The first thrust inside Stiles felt different than anything Derek had felt before. He’d fucked a lot of people – women and men, wolves, humans, and everything in between – but Stiles’ body was something completely different. Derek knew it was just that for the first time in his life, he wanted to wake up beside the person in the morning and fall asleep with them the next night. 

Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, pulling him deeper inside him. Derek buried his face in Stiles’ neck, his scent concentrated where the sweat dampened his skin and mixed with Derek’s own. His wolf growled contently, and Derek felt his fangs break free of his gums finally, his claws replace his nails. 

“Fuck,” Derek choked, loosening his grip on Stiles’ hip.

“What?” Stiles asked, stilling as his hands ran over Derek’s shoulder. “What is it?” Derek lifted his head, eyes bright blue, cheeks covered in fur, fangs extending over his lower lip. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek made to crawl off Stiles, but he clamped his legs around Derek’s waist more tightly. Derek glanced at him in confusion. 

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked, annoyed.

“You’re fucking a monster,” Derek said through his fangs.

Stiles lifted a hand, dragged his fingers over Derek’s wrinkled forehead, scratched his nails through his chops. “I’m fucking you,” he said. 

“But you hate – “

Stiles placed his fingers over Derek’s lips, his thumb poking lightly at the sharp end of one fang. “Maybe I hate the wolf who bit Scott. Maybe I hate the wolf who killed your family. But if I’ve learned one thing by being your partner, it’s that wolves aren’t quite what I thought they were.”

Derek thrust into Stiles hard, causing Stiles to moan and throw his head back. He buried his face back into Stiles’ neck, licking and nuzzling as he fucked him. Stiles turned his head to the side, baring his neck. Derek gave into his wolf and bit him, just hard enough to leave a mark. 

“Fuck, yes, Derek,” Stiles said, and Derek dragged his tongue over the mark as he thrust harder and faster, then came deep inside Stiles. Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles and stroked his cock as he mouthed at his neck. Derek bit another bite into Stiles’ shoulder when he came, the smell of their mixing scents intoxicating.

They lay together for a long time afterward, not moving or speaking. Stiles was the first to move. “The come’s starting to itch,” he said. Derek rolled onto his back while Stiles went into the bathroom. Derek heard running water, then a minute later, Stiles came out with a warm cloth. He sat beside Derek and cleaned his torso and groin. Then, he tossed the rag on the floor and curled up beside Derek.

“Does this mean we don’t get to be partners anymore?” Stiles asked. “Because the partner module said – “

“Fuck the partner module,” Derek said, voice groggy with sleep.

“It’s no wonder no one wanted to be your partner,” Stiles said.

“Do you want another partner?” Derek asked.

“And have my dad go through another grueling assignment process?” Stiles asked. “Hell no.”

“What would your dad think if he knew you were fucking your partner?” Derek asked, turning his head to look at Stiles.

“I’ve been fucking my partner for months,” Stiles replied. “I think the better question is, what is he going to think when he finds out I’ve fallen in love with my werewolf partner?”

“Does your dad hate werewolves, too?” Derek asked with a smirk.

“No, my dad will just hate anyone I’m with.”

Derek closed his eyes. “I’m looking forward to family Christmases already.”

*

Derek finally understood what Stiles’ role in their partnership was. He hadn’t ever tried to figure out Stiles’ role, because Derek didn’t need plans and strategy. Except, he knew now with startling clarity, that was utter bullshit. 

Derek was lost without Stiles. Which is why they were both injured and captive, the plan gone to shit. If Derek would have listened to Stiles’ plan, things would have gone a lot more smoothly. Instead, Derek ignored all aspect of Stiles’ plan and went in claws first.

Brunski had handcuffed Stiles to a pole, making it obvious he saw Stiles as no threat at all. Derek he’d trapped with mountain ash and then shot with a tranquilizer dart made out of a form of wolfsbane. Derek thought it would be ironic how many times he’d almost died due to wolfsbane if he wasn’t about to die yet again.

“Fifteen million dollars,” Brunski said as he squatted beside Derek. “I’ll be able to quit my shitty job and disappear forever with that kind of cash.”

“It’s almost time,” a female voice said from the shadows. Derek watched her through bleary eyes as she approached. She had light, short cropped curls and a wild look in her eyes. “But not quite yet.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Derek heard Stiles scream. 

“Can I kill that one, Meredith?” Brunski asked.

Meredith tilted her head like she was listening to something. “He doesn’t die yet. Derek Hale must die now.”

“What the fuck – who the fuck – are you the Benefactor?” Stiles yelled.

“Look, the little sidekick figured it out,” Brunski sneered. “Now shut up before I kill you anyway.”

“Not until they tell me,” Meredith said.

“I’m not a fucking sidekick!” Stiles exclaimed.

At that moment, Meredith opened her mouth and screamed. The sound pierced Derek’s eardrums until one of them burst. Everything became a muffled buzz, and he felt something oozing out of his ear. 

He knew what Meredith was – she was a banshee. She was screaming for him, and he knew there was no escaping that.

Brunski approached him and got to his knees. He pulled out a dagger, and Derek tried to lift his arm to swipe at him, but the wolfsbane made it where he could barely move.

“Say goodbye, wolf scum.” Brunski grinned, but a second later, his face contorted in pain as he spluttered, blood escaping from his mouth. Derek blinked, his vision starting to fade. Stiles stood behind him, the rune-inscribed dagger Derek bought him in his hand.

Meredith stopped screaming. “But he has to die,” she said. “Derek Hale must die.”

“Fuck that shit,” Stiles said, advancing on Meredith with one of the offensive moves Derek taught him while sparring. He easily overtook Meredith and tackled her to the floor. Stiles secured her and then started racing around the room. “Wolfsbane, where’s the fucking wolfsbane!”

Derek tried to hang on; he could feel the wolfsbane quickly approaching his heart. A few more minutes and he’d die. “Found it!” Stiles ran over to him and dropped to his knees. “Don’t you fucking die on me, asshole.” Derek tried to smile, but he had lost all function of his body. He was just drifting now.

When Stiles injected the wolfsbane antidote mixture into Derek’s neck, it felt like a thousand burning needles slicing their way through his veins. He cried out in pain, and Stiles grabbed him and talked to him as he tried to keep him still. Derek couldn’t hear anything Stiles said, but when his body finally dropped to the ground, still throbbing in pain, Derek was thankful for Stiles’ hands and his soothing voice.

It took half an hour before Derek was functioning again. “How?” is all he could get out at first.

“How to you too,” Stiles joked with a grin. His face was red, his eyes damp. “But I’m thinking you want to know how I’m awesome and win the best partner award yet again. There really should be a best partner of the year award, but I’d totally – “

“Stiles,” Derek croaked.

“Right. Um, I’m a genius?” Stiles shrugged. “Doesn’t take a genius long to figure out how to get out of handcuffs. Oh, that and Scott and I learned how to get out of handcuffs by the time we were ten. Admiral’s son.” He grinned.

“Thank god,” Derek said. His voice was rough like sandpaper, and he felt like hell. He could hear better now since his eardrum had healed, and Meredith was in the corner mumbling “should be dead, should be dead now.”

“That’s kinda freaking me out,” Stiles said, throwing a glance at Meredith over his shoulder. “It’s like some macabre broken record. Maybe you should be dead, but I don’t fucking care. You are not dying on my watch, buddy.”

Derek closed his eyes and turned towards Stiles’ body, his scent comforting him.

*

“Excellent job with the Benefactor,” Argent said as they sat in front of his desk the next morning. 

Derek still didn’t feel one hundred percent. Stiles had hovered around the Healer’s Ward so long that Melissa told him to leave. When he didn’t, she looked between the two of them and said, “For heaven’s sake, Stiles, really? Does Scott know? Or your father?” Derek closed his eyes as they had bickered in a familiar way. At the end, Stiles stayed with Derek and slept pressed against Derek’s side on the too-small bed all night.

“Thank you, sir,” Stiles replied.

“Parrish and Dunbar are still running down the remaining names on the dead pool while Greenburg and Whittemore are trying to control the damage. But with the knowledge that the Benefactor is out play, the killings should stop.” Argent sat back in his chair and surveyed them closely. “Now that the mission is over, we need to decide if this partnership should remain a more permanent arrangement.”

“Yes,” Derek said at the same time Stiles blurted, “Hell yeah.”

Argent watched them with amusement. “I’m glad to hear it. I believe you two worked rather well together, despite Hale’s inability to listen to Stilinski, and Stilinski’s inability to provide back up until the last possible second.”

“Hey!” Stiles exclaimed.

“You two will need to work on your cooperation skills over the next few weeks. Figure out how in the hell to work as partners before one of you dies.”

“Yes sir,” they said in unison.

“And I mean outside the bedroom,” Argent said with a pointed look. “Your sexual involvement has done nothing to improve your teamwork, as evidenced by your last mission.”

“Sir, it’s not – “

“We’re totally not – “

“Save it, gentlemen,” Argent said with his hand up. “It’s my job to know everything that goes on. I have no problem with your relationship, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work.” Derek nodded, and Stiles sat there, speechless. With a final flick of Argent’s wrist, they were dismissed.

Down the hall from Argent’s office, Stiles leaned into Derek and dissolved into laughter. “Ohmigod,” he breathed, “I thought we were gonna get fired or reassigned or something.”

“That’s probably the more responsible option,” Derek said.

Stiles curled into Derek’s body as he sobered. Derek tried to push him away, but it was futile. Stiles wasn’t going anywhere. “So, when are we telling my dad?”

“Um, I think we just did.” Derek stared in horror as Admiral Stilinski rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes glued to where his son was basically cuddling with his partner in the middle of the hall.

Stiles spun around, hitting Derek in the face with his hand in the process. “Dad, this is not what – “

“Not another word, Stiles,” the Admiral said as he approached. “Did you think I didn’t know you were dating your partner?” Stiles mouthed wordlessly. “My job is information and secrets. Though, you could try to behave yourself in a professional manner at work.” The Admiral turned his attention to Derek. He pointed a finger at him. “Dinner, Sunday night, my house. We have much to discuss.” Derek nodded, and the Admiral turned to Stiles. “We’ll have words later.”

The Admiral left them then, continuing down the hall to Argent’s office. This time, Derek was the one to lean against Stiles, laughing uncontrollably.

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles muttered, pushing Derek off him before he stalked down the hall. Derek watched him go, unable to keep the smile off his face.

-fin

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://thepsychicclam.tumblr.com/), if you'd like to say hi. :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [На краю луны](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958081) by [JakeJensen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JakeJensen/pseuds/JakeJensen)




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